Emergence
by ShogunOfSweets
Summary: United by a desire to find refuge away from American soil, a small band of escaped slaves and what is left of the Frontier Mohawk clan trek across New England. Meanwhile, Connor races across the countryside to reunite with his lost tribe, but when he does, will he be able to push aside his guilt and regret to help get them out of the nation safely?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Don't own anything besides my original characters._

_Warning: Use of coarse language_

_Thanks goes to my beta's G-ChanSanKun and TX-Bluebonnet._

* * *

He found himself visiting the village less often as time went by. This would likely be the last visit for a very long time.

A dreamy air had descended over the valley, coldness radiating from the abandoned land even though the bloom of flowers sang of spring season. The wooden shacks still held up, designed as they were to function even without daily upkeep. There weren't any overtly visible signs of wear, the land appearing relatively undisturbed, as if the inhabitants had just vanished right in the middle of supper. But the desolate shadows from inside the shacks and the long burnt out fire pits were a bleak reminder of how empty the village really was.

If Ratonhnhaké:kon closed his eyes, he could imagine the sounds and smells of the village coming to life again, rich baritone voices singing melodies of tradition and unity. He could almost feel the light vibration beneath the soles of his feet, as children laughed and ran through the village; the soft scolding from the Clan Mother, and seeing the weathered skin pull up near her eyes as she chuckled in surrender. He could recall Kanen'tó:kon trailing after him, laughing heartily as they gathered firewood along the edge of the forest.

Ghosts of a time long past drifted along the air of the abandoned village, memories of warm air and rich scents dusting his skin. He opened his eyes, forcing himself out of the solemn reverie. The warm atmosphere that surrounded the village in his memories had vanished, replaced by a dreary coldness. Empty shacks, overgrown trees dangling precariously over the land, spider webs and creaking wooden doors. This was reality.

* * *

Connor had ventured to Boston to retrieve boxwood for Lance. Apparently the wood was rare enough that even Godrey and Terry couldn't find it at the Homestead. Lance had promised to fix the flying contraption they had found, after Connor had flown it into a ditch shortly after take-off. _"With boxwood and a few tweaks, it should be good to go the next time around!"_ Lance had said, rubbing his hands together in enthusiasm. Connor did not hold the same optimism as the woodworker, but he had agreed to get the supplies anyway, if only as an excuse to set his mind on other tasks.

He had arrived some time ago, focused only on his destination, when he heard the rapid voice of an auctioneer, bellowing out prices and purchases. He glanced over to see what the commotion was all about, his gaze immediately focusing on the weary faces of three slaves standing aboard a small stage.

"This one here was a tough catch! Full o' life she is, and ready to get workin' at the slightest call. Not too hard on the eyes either," the auctioneer said the last part in a conspiratorial tone, leaning over and winking to the nearest potential buyer. The girl he indicated was staring straight ahead, her expression controlled. She feigned indifference to the crowd of buyers, but a furrow of her brows or the flare of her nostrils betrayed her true feelings. "Turn to the side, girl, let em' get a good look at ya." From beside her, one of the boys gnawed on his bottom lip nervously when she didn't immediately move. He met her eyes once, and nodded curtly before ducking his head down.

She did as instructed. The bags under her eyes foretold of a deep exhaustion, but the slow burn in her eyes never wavered. Her dark skin gleamed in the sunlight, matted with a sheen of sweat. Several hands shot up, waving around bound bills, and the shouts of their prices followed. Connor bowed his head, his mood darkening as he listened to the raucousness of the scene. He had fought for freedom, to ensure the independence of a burgeoning nation. That was what he told himself each night, as he turned in to snatch only a few hours of sleep. It was what drove him to the end, in the face of doubts flung by his father, or the wretched actions of Commander Washington.

_Freedom. For them._

The Patriots turned their back on him long ago, even before they went after his village. And now that his people had been chased out by those he had willingly helped, the colonists were back to their regular activities. Activities that had included slave auctions.

_Freedom? For whom?_

"Six hundred dollar bid, I got a six hundred dollar bid, will ya' give me six-fifty! Six-fifty, six-fifty, will ya' give me—seven hundred!"

It was not the time or place to dwell on past choices. Connor tucked away any feelings of perturbance, and limped toward the stage.

"Going once! Goooing twice! And sol-"

The rapid chanting of the auctioneer was abruptly cut off when Connor hoisted himself on the stage, gingerly holding the tender skin of his side as he swung his legs over the stage rim. The auctioneer took a step back, a flicker of uneasiness in his expression, but he quickly regained his composure. "What in the hell are you doing? We're trying to hold an auction here, get the hell off my stage!"

"You will stop at once," Connor said, advancing on the auctioneer and adjusting his weight so his limp wouldn't be too obvious.

The man scoffed, though not without a bit of caution as Connor towered above him. His fingers inched toward the whip at his waist, but stopped immediately when Connor rested his own hand on the tomahawk. The auctioneer glowered at him. "Do you know who I am?" he turned to the crowd, attempting to rouse a favorable reaction. "My name is Archibald Turner, and I am the best damn auctioneer this side of the river! There is nothin-"

"I do not care who you are. I will not repeat myself again: stop this."

Archibald glowered, his fists clenching and unclenching. "This is business, boy. I know ya' may not like seeing your coloured brethren strung about up here, but there ain't a damn thing you can do about it," his voice lowered. "Now. Get offa' my stage before I call our Revolutionaries."

Connor bared his teeth, placing a sturdy hand on the auctioneer's chest and shoving him aside. "You think your 'Revolutionaries' are going to stop me? ___After what I did for their war?_" His voice was raised, so that the buyers who had clustered near the rim of the stage could hear, and reconsider any possible urge to call the guards. "Leave," he said firmly. Heeding his words, the crowd dispersed amidst whispered complaints and cursing.

Archibald had regained his footing from the force of the shove, but now he wore his nervousness openly. "Fine. Take the sodding whelps. But I swear it, savage, you will get what's comin' to ya.' And as for you, girl," he turned to her, snaking a hand out to touch her jaw. Her eyes only burned in response, her lips set in a tight line. "You think you're free? Oh no, you'll see me again. Very soon," he promised, and turned swiftly on his heel.

Connor looked after the man, briefly considering whether todeliver a firmer punishment, when he heard a shuffling sound behind him. He looked back to see the taller of the two teenage boys puffing his chest out, glaring at Connor with an anxious, but protective glint in his eyes. The smaller boy was tucked behind, glancing between Connor and the floor. But in front of them both stood the only girl of the trio, suspicion bright in her gaze even though Connor hadn't shown any aggression towards her.

"Peace," Connor said, raising his hands, palms out, in a yielding gesture. "I mean no danger to you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why'd you do that?" she asked, indicating the several auction posters spread about the stage. The taller boy tugged at her arm, but she waved him away, her eyes never leaving Connor's.

"Only to free you," Connor said earnestly. "This is no way to treat another human being, to be sold off like cattle."

She shook her head, her burning gaze darting to the floor. "Tell that to ___them__._ It don't matter what you do, sir, it don't matter if we are free in name, because we'll all be slaves to the system of this 'nation.' "

And just like that, all of his earlier doubts about choices he made during the war came crashing down again. ___It is not the time or place__,_he reminded himself firmly, and so he made an impulsive decision to shut out the disquieting thoughts. "There is a sizable space of land outside of Boston. I assume responsibility for it. You all could come and rebuild your lives there."

"No."

The boys behind her simultaneously shot her a look of confusion. "Sis! We ain't never gonna get a chance like this again!" exclaimed the taller boy, placing a trembling hand upon her shoulder. The smaller boy nodded fiercely, daring to inch closer to Connor.

"Did you just hear me?" she rounded on her brothers. "We'll be slaves to this nation and it don't matter ___where _we live!"

She gave the taller boy a pointed look, and he settled down reluctantly. There was definitely something she wasn't telling him, another underlying motivation for her refusal. He decided not to press her on the issue.

"Then what exactly is your next course of action? Will you leave the nation?" Connor asked, folding his hands together.

"Yes," she replied in exasperation, as if that were the completely obvious choice.

"Sis..." the taller boy wore his doubt on his sleeve, backing away from her. She tried to give him a reassuring look, reaching over to pat his arm shortly.

"Trust me. This is what's best for us. I've been dreaming of this day," she murmured, and the exhaustion was clear in her expression. She turned to face Connor. "Thanks for your help, sir, but I only have my gratitude to give you in return."

"It is enough," he said, unclasping his hands and taking a step toward them. "But can I at least have the knowledge of your names?"

"No need for that," she said warily. "You won't ever see us again," Her eyes searched his for any wicked intention he may have hidden behind his words. She looked at her feet when she couldn't find any underlying motivation. She was certainly holding something back, but it was not of Connor's concern to investigate any further.

"I see," was all he said. He looked over the trio, at the taller boy who did his best to appear strong for his sister and brother; at the smaller boy who looked up at Connor curiously, and at the girl, who stared at him with a mixture of caution and questioning in her gaze. "I wish you safety on your travels."

She nodded curtly, and pulled the smaller boy closer to her as they swiftly climbed off of the stage, together darting to the nearest alley.

Connor stood on the stage for a few moments more, gazing in the direction the trio had taken even though they had long since disappeared. Hordes of people fluttered about below the stage, chattering amicably as the day settled into dusk.

* * *

Connor cradled the boxwood against one arm, the lumber resting against taut shoulders as he exited the general store. The night air brushed against the exposed skin of his face as he pulled his hood up, his gaze roaming across the empty street. The moon's light had dimmed, obscured by a drifting cloud as Connor began his trek out of the city.

It had been a long day. Even though he was aware that boxwood was quite rare in the Massachusetts area, he had no idea just how rare it was until he found himself visiting the fifth general store that day. He hoped that the flying contraption was worth it.

Nearby voices, hoarse and drunken, pulled him from his thoughts. Several crashing sounds came from inside the alleyway ahead, as if bottles were being hurtled into the ground. The noises became louder as he walked ahead, obnoxious laughter bursting from the alley. Connor was intent on disregarding the drunken rambling, but the mention of Native tribes gave him pause.

"It's about damn time we got the land, I say. We shoulda stayed and watched em' run!"

"They got what they deserved, supporting the Red Coats. Them savages won't be a trouble to our cause no more."

Connor slowed his step, feeling his hackles rise.

"Did ya' hear where the Frontier tribe left? Didn't know which land to squat in next, so they ended up somewhere near New York!"

The heavy clattering of the boxwood thumped against the ground as Connor advanced on the two men, both hands balled into fists. One of the men yelped and sprinted away as Connor lifted his companion by the collar, and slammed him against the alley wall.

"Repeat," Connor said, his voice rough and barely above a whisper.

"I—what do you think you're-"

"My patience is running thin," Connor bit out as his hand clenched around the man's neck, digging into his skin. "Repeat what you just said!"

"Wha, about the savag-" the hand around his neck tightened, "...Natives? W-we heard of a tribe heading toward the outskirts of New York. It's just a rumor. That's all I know I swear!"

The man fell to the floor, crumpled and coughing as he tried to regain his bearings. Connor stepped over the man's trembling body, and snatched up the fallen boxwood. Despite the slight limp, his pace was swift and each step resolute, intent as he was on a new purpose.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Don't own anything besides my OC's._

_AN: __So this chapter was a bit tricky for me, when it comes to the names of my characters. Slaves were given English names by those who bought them, partly as a way of taking their own identities away. I tried to use the names given to them as least as I can in this chapter, and I will elaborate more on the naming process in the next chapter._

_____Thanks goes to my beta TX-Bluebonnet._

* * *

The muscles in her legs were burning, roaring at her to stop or at least slow down. But she wouldn't; she couldn't. If her legs could carry her for just a few yards more, she would reward them by collapsing into the nearest soft grassy patch. Though even then, she wouldn't enjoy her rest for long.

But as it turned out, she may be getting a brief rest even earlier than expected. As she ran ahead, a burned out hut loomed to her right, and the contents inside caught her eye.

"Where in hell are you going?" She heard John, her younger brother, hiss from close behind as she veered toward the hut.

She glanced back for the nth time that day, to make sure that they weren't being followed, but saw only her brothers, John and Sam, trailing behind. Panting, she rubbed the sweat from above her eyes.

"I saw something," she announced as she entered the hut, which upon closer examination turned out to be an abandoned storehouse.

"We don't have time to..." John started, trailing off when he looked about the small abandoned room.

"You think it'll be better to head into the forest with nothing but these rags hanging off our asses?" She snapped, breathing hard from the exertion. She carefully detached a ruined drawer from what looked to be a were bundles of clothes that somehow managed to survive the fire that had torched the storehouse, and a few other items that littered the ground.

Her brothers ambled in next to her, exhaling in short, rough breaths as their muscles sought relief. "There ain't much of anything in here. Take what you can," she told them, sorting through the bundle of clothes and pulling out two pairs of breeches, boots, and linen shirts. She pushed the clothes into their arms, and directed them into a separate room to change while she dug out garments of her choosing.

Having pulled off the worn homespun dress, she quickly shimmied into breeches and knee-high boots. The off-white of the undershirt contrasted heavily with her dark skin, and she quickly buttoned up the linen top over it. She pulled off the cap on her head, and shook out the wild coils of her hair. Smoothing the fabric over her skin, she exhaled shakily, finally regaining a bit of her energy from this brief stop.

It still didn't feel real, being this far away from their master's house and wearing clothing that wasn't a tattered slave uniform. She more than expected to be caught soon, but despite the odds, something still drove her to find a way out. Hope was too hard an emotion to stifle, it seemed. Maybe sanctuary was too far away to reach just yet, but getting the hell away from Boston would be a goal worth settling on.

A gleam caught her eye, shining from the corner of her vision. She bent down to pick up the foreign object, brushing ash from its surface, and she inhaled sharply when she realized what it was. Her fingers touched the individual lettering, and the pointed arrow, trying to recall the lessons she overheard the house matron teach to her children all those years earlier.

_This one is S... so the top one must be..._

She heard shuffling on her side as her brothers gathered the few supplies that could still be salvaged. A washbin and some dirty bandages were most of it. The trio glanced at each other, readying themselves for the next sprint.

"What's that thing?" John asked, gesturing to the item she held in a clenched fist.

_North. _

"A... 'compass.'" She opened her palm, allowing her brothers to see it fully.

Sam, who was just a few years younger than both her and John, squinted at the device, inclining his head this way and that, as if the compass' direction would suddenly change. "Like the one Nana showed us that day? Before they took it from her..."

"Yes..." she murmured, her voice wavering as the memory reemerged, fresh in her mind as if it had happened just the day before, instead of years earlier. Her brothers both peered at her solemnly, and Sam tried to touch her hand in an apologetic gesture. She shook him away, her lips tightening as she quickly tried to bury the memory. "It's gonna get us out," she said resolutely. "We just have to follow the _N._"

Her brothers nodded, looking up at her with wide eyes as she turned to the hollowed entrance of the storehouse. "But first, we'll need to get past this."

From the storehouse ahead, loomed a wide stretch of land, foreboding in its vast openness. The heavens above were plagued with gathering storm clouds, the blackness threatening to swallow up the pale blue of the daytime sky. It would be raining soon. Her fingertips rapped against the glass surface of the compass as her heart pounded, uncertainty threatening to shroud her focus.

Was this the smart choice? To barrel into the unknown lands that lie ahead, armed with only a few necessities and the clothing on their backs? Who was to say that they would even find shelter from the storm?

But if they stayed here for the night, there was a high chance of being caught by the remaining Patriot soldiers who patrolled the area. And she knew the implications of that path...

As she peered closer, she could see that near the apex of the land was a corn field, rife with supposed cover and security. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat, and clenched the compass tighter in her hand as she made her decision. "Stay low, and be swift," she whispered to her brothers, creeping out of the burned out storehouse at last.

She was glad for the boots she now wore, as she couldn't imagine sprinting through the damp, grassy terrain in her skirts and bare feet. They were out in the open again, and this time they were in the home stretch for the outskirts of Boston. The corn field ahead taunted her, seeming an illusion, symbolizing brief safety from the dangers of being caught by vengeful colonists. She snatched a glance back to see her brothers panting from the exertion, John pulling slightly ahead of her, while Sam wore a focused expression on his face as he lagged behind.

"You alright?" she yelled to him, each breath labored, and he didn't respond verbally, only throwing her a quick thumbs up as his legs pumped him across. She nodded, though he wasn't able to see it, and willed her own legs to go faster. If only she could push herself more...

A sudden barking from nearby caused a coldness to sliver through her blood. She immediately dropped to the ground, ignoring the pain that reverberated through her bones from the sheer force of the impact with the earth. She whipped her head around to see that her brothers had followed suit, as the top of their heads quickly disappeared under the long tendrils of grass.

The dog's barking continued, though the sound did not advance any closer. And though it seemed to be yards away, the sound tore through her eardrums, as if the dog was right beside her. She did not dare to breathe, fearful of even such a small noise alerting the animal's heightened senses. She only hoped her brothers were just as careful.

The barking halted suddenly, and she waited for a few more paces, hoping against hope that it wouldn't start up again. When it didn't, she exhaled shakily, and crawled forward, not daring to stand up so soon. For a time, the only thing she could hear was the quick succession of her breath, threatening to drown out every other noise. The ground shook slightly from underneath her suddenly, and she risked a raised head above the grass.

She cursed when she saw the pale blue of a Patriot uniform, watching the man stomp through the grass while the guard dog trailed after him, its ears raised and alert. She bit her lip so hard the skin broke, and the metallic taste of blood trickled into her mouth as she realized her mistake of cursing so loudly. The dog started barking again, and the soldier moved forward, inching ever closer to where she last spotted Sam.

The soldier called out, startled, and she already knew he had found Sam cowering in the brush. She didn't even realize when her legs had pulled her up and carried her across the field; she only knew the cold certainty of the soldier's musket, the bayonet gleaming in the dimming light. The dog's maw worked fiercely, saliva snapping away from sharp teeth as it barked, but she couldn't hear it. The only sound she could hear was her heart hammering in her ears, erratic and aggressive. The dog's beady gaze seemed to shoot through her as she raced across the land, when finally, she was upon the soldier.

She felt the impact of both of her fists, interlocked, slamming against his head, not even realizing that she had commanded her body to do so. He briefly keeled over from the blow but recovered quickly, and clenched her around the throat, tossing her flailing body upon the hard earth. Droplets of blood fell upon her shirt, though she wasn't fully aware of the wound in her torn lip opening wider. Sam was next to her, she realized, by the small fingers she felt clutching the fabric of her shirt. She looked at him, and was startled to see his fearful expression. Not fearful of the soldier, but of her.

She didn't have time to ponder it, when she heard the quick hitch of the musket in front of her. The black pools of the barrel filled her gaze, and she didn't swallow, not daring to give the soldier any indication of her fear. She pushed Sam away, just as the soldier laid his thick finger upon the trigger.

_Crack. _


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:** don't own nothing._

_**AN**: Hey guys! I'm sorry I haven't updated in awhile, I've been swamped with work and school and I just haven't had the energy to even think about fic stuff. But I finally got around to finishing this chapter, and though I'm not completely satisfied with it, I hope ya'll enjoy it. Thanks goes to my beta TX-Bluebonnet._

* * *

Connor had delegated the responsibility of Homestead duties between Warren, David, and Oliver, though he was not opposed to the other Homestead residents pitching in to help when they could. As for his... less than domestic work against the Templars, he trusted the Brotherhood enough to protect the Boston area in his absence.

He had quickly packed whatever he could carry, adjusting his usual slew of weapons around his person, while the rest – medicinal herbs, non-parishable foods and the like – went into the bags strapped to his steed. The crunch of booted heels against the hard ground sounded from behind him, and he turned to meet the disheartened expressions of Prudence and Ellen.

"Lance couldn't make it. He got right to work on that contraption you two discovered some time ago. But he wanted to wish you luck and to thank you for the boxwood," Ellen said, smoothing down the front of her apron. "He is sad that you are leaving."

Connor nodded in understanding, knowing that the portly woodworker was most likely hunched over his work as they spoke, and he wanted to smile at the man's determination. Lance had always been one of the first to wake in the mornings, sawing away at wood pieces and humming a lively tune. Whenever Connor ventured down the path, he wasn't opposed to being engaged in a brief morning conversation by the woodworker, and had even grown accustomed to their daily talks. It proved to be a stable practice. It would also be one of the many things Connor would miss at the Homestead.

He noticed that Ellen still peered at him as if she wanted to say more, and inclined his head, motioning for her to continue. She fidgeted under his encompassing gaze, and finally sighed after a long moment.

"I also am sad... I almost wish that you didn't have to go, Connor, since things were just seeming to get settled around here..." Ellen trailed off, bowing her head as if in shame.

Connor wasn't sure of what to say to reassure her, and wanted to make a promise that he would return soon, to all of them. But in all actuality he didn't have any idea of when he would come back to the Homestead. And so he settled on placing a heavy hand upon her shoulder, attempting to recapture her gaze. She didn't meet his eyes fully, but a smile, if a bit shaky, soon appeared on her face.

"We understand that this is a journey you must undertake, but do be safe in your travels, Connor," Prudence said, gingerly laying a hand upon his tensed arm.

Ellen nodded in agreement, unfiltered concern lacing her expression as she turned away, and the two women went back to their morning duties.

Adjusting the last of his gear, Connor at last turned to face the sprawling land of the Homestead. Lush greenery swept across the land for as far as the eye could see, tree tops and flowery blossoming in the embrace of Spring.

He had spent a little more than a decade assisting the residents of this land, pooling his energy into protecting what little sense of normalcy there was. From supporting Norris in his efforts of wooing Myriam and eventually marrying her, to driving back the Redcoats on behalf of Big Dave, each Homestead resident had always been welcome to his help. And it saddened him to abruptly leave the people and the home he had come to know so well.

He didn't know how long it would be until he returned. He didn't even know if the goal of this new journey was certain.

Connor only knew that it was the last thing he could do to make things better. He would not give up on his people, not for the Templars, not for the Patriots, and not even for himself.

He had once looked into the brooding eyes of Sam Adams, the weathered gaze of Washington, and believed that they would hold onto their word for the sake of his people. He had dedicated himself to helping the colonists attain their freedom, and looked forward to the same treatment for his tribe. But the Patriots had turned their back on him after all was said and done.

His whole life was spent dedicated to the fight against Templars, and assisting the Patriots in the process, and now all he had to show for it was an abandoned village and a limp. The War had drained him, despite his reluctance to admit it, after spending so long fighting for people who only looked after their own hide.

He felt his chest tightening in anger, and exhaled a harsh breath.

Connor had trusted the Patriots for so long; after all, they had offered protection for his people. The possibility of being suspicious of honeyed words or coated lies never once crossed his mind. Only until it was too late.

He tried to conjure images from the day the Redcoats had finally sailed away, and how the colonists had reveled in their freedom, at last. Yes. Freedom was what he fought for, what the Assassins fought for.

And yet, the face of the woman and the two boys he freed at the auction appeared in his mind. Her eyes, dark and burning, barely concealing an anger and hurt so raw it was a wonder the auctioneer didn't notice. He fought for the freedom of this nation, and yet there were still slaves being sold at this very moment. The only reward his efforts had granted was for the colonists. The forced desertion of his village was proof.

And it was all the more reason for him to leave, even if his efforts proved to be in vain. For all of his work, finding his people again would be a reward within itself.

But, if only... if only his eyes were opened earlier. His father's words echoed in his mind suddenly: _'The only difference between myself and those you aid, is that I do not feign affection.'_

He bowed his head, his fingers hovering over the horses' reins. Thinking of his father had only provoked another stab of regret. It seemed that after the War, he had nothing but time to contemplate the consequences of his past decisions. Some may have liked the extra time, even deeming it peaceful, but he did not find it ideal.

Despite the urgency, he found himself glad to be saddled with a new cause, to be on the move and getting things done. That was how his life should be. The Homestead was a comfort, but since his introduction to the Brotherhood, he knew that contentment was never permanent.

With the news of tribes being sighted further South, he had to hurry.

He looked back once again over the land, seeing the retreating backs of Ellen and Prudence. Sadness welled in his gut at the thought of leaving the land for an extended amount of time, and past memories flitted across his mind. He looked toward the Davenport Manor, and exhaled softly. Many of his memories were filled with the withered visage of Achilles, training him and expending advice he didn't think he wanted at the time. Connor bowed his head.

This would always be his home. Even if he never came back.

* * *

Everything had slowed down. Her breath, her vision, her movements.

The world around her was a muted shade of grey and brown, the sounds warping together in a general haze of panic. There was a small thumping sensation against her head, as if sparse droplets of water were falling upon her. When burning warmth clamped around her shoulder, she was jolted out of her shocked state. She panted harshly, unaware that she was holding in her breath.

"Sis!"

"Sis! Snap out of it!"

John's terrified expression gradually came into focus, his skin gleaming with sweat as he knelt in front of her. The raging depths of his eyes bored into her own tired gaze, his hand gripping her shoulder, and she shook her head to clear the dizziness from her vision. She stood up too fast, the muscles in her legs wobbling. She swallowed the bile that threatened to pour from her throat as she laid eyes upon the body in front of her, the blue Patriot uniform stained red with blood.

A large rock fell from John's ashen fingers. She turned to see the rain washing away the red liquid from the surface of the rock, as John stepped away from the Patriot soldier's body.

A pressure on her arm increased, and she soon found their youngest brother, Sam, hurtled into her arms and his face soon nestled against her collarbone. His body shook with the force of his trembles, and she soon felt wetness seeping through the fabric of her shirt. She turned back to John, and his gaze became clouded. Her fingers absently combed through the youngest's tightly curled hair, as John gave her an indiscernible look. She returned the look, instinctively knowing the meaning he wanted to convey, and nodded briefly in thanks. He didn't return the gesture, his gaze only darkening in wariness as his gaze lowered to Sam's back. She gestured for him to come forward, throwing him a more pointed look when he at first refused to move.

Heaving a sigh, John slogged forward, wrapping his arms loosely around both siblings. Sam clutched at his older brother, unaware of the silent exchange that just passed between them both. They stood for a few moments more, holding each other as the rain lightly fell upon the land, and she bowed her head, attempting to savor the fleeting moment. She barely heard the muffled bark from far away, and lifted her head, searching the vast space. She patted their heads. "I s'pose there's enough of that, now."

She realized that the guard dog had long since ran away, barking frantically as it retreated. Her vision gradually focused, as she watched the figure of the dog become smaller in distance. It was calling for reinforcements. John had detached himself without her even realizing, peering in the same direction.

Sam trembled beside her, and she lightly ruffled his hair, the strands quickly growing brittle under the wetness. "C'mon. Before more of them get here."

They soon reached the corn field, and as she predicted, the sounds of shouts and barks sounded from far behind. She snatched a glance behind, finding a circle of Patriot soldiers already spreading out, their guard dogs sniffing around obediently. Her eyes narrowed, and she quickly turned back to the thicket, the rainwater already soaking through her clothes.

"John, you need to take the back," she ordered firmly.

She looked back at him. He didn't respond immediately as he brought up their flank, making sure to keep the Patriot group in his vision. She knew he acknowledged her command though, when he nodded shortly, but it confused her when his expression suddenly shifted into a grimace.

"... Not my name anymore," he said, quietly.

"What are goin' on about?" she asked, though she instinctively knew what he was referring to. She tried to stall this, push it back until she had more energy to deal with it. He was as straightforward as her, even more so sometimes, so she had a feeling that he would bring this up soon. She didn't think it would be this soon, however.

"My name ain't 'John,' " he spat out the syllable as if it physically disgusted him to speak it. "And it won't ever be again, because now we are free. And 'Sarah' won't be your name either."

She finally paused in her work on the bushes, and fixed him with a stare. His chin was raised, his clouded eyes matching her steely gaze. Their younger brother looked between them both, watching the scene with an apt attention, seemingly aware of the significance of this moment. "Do you remember what Nana wanted?" he asked.

She turned to the overgrown wilderness, forcing her breath to exhale slowly. The music of the forest was loud in her ears, as the chirping of birdsong flitted throughout the overhead branches and the various sounds of wildlife was heard from all around. She absently focused on the swaying tendrils of grass as her thoughts turned back to a time she long wanted buried. Of course she remembered what Nana wanted. It was what she wanted, too, for a brief time.

_The stack of clothes was warm in her hand, freshly dried from the sun's rays. She inhaled the clean scent that wafted from the fabric, handing it to her Nana as she gathered the next batch in her free hand. _

"_Your momma was a strong woman, child. Her will was unbreakable, and her spirit pure. She recognized her place in this society, but she never let it define her. She was there for your daddy when he was weak, and she was there to keep you strong in her belly." Nana folded the last of the clothes, and took her time to shut all of the open drawers. "The women in our family draw strength from deep within us. You do best to remember that now, girl. Walk with me."_

_She nodded quickly, gathering the basket and washcloth. They walked out of the two story house, making their trek across the property to acquire the rest of the clothes swinging from the clothesline. "A good chunk of our strength comes from names. We name our babies what we want, though they don't know that. They want to give us their white-sounding names. That won't do." Nana leaned in and gave a conspiratorial smile, her eyes sparkling. "I still remember what my mama named me. Wanna know what it is, child?"_

_A smile spread across her face as she nodded, her Nana's enthusiasm contagious. "Amara. It means 'unfading' in the mother tongue."_

"_It fits you," she said, beaming at her Nana. _

"_I'm glad you think so, 'cause I think so, too. I will not fade away, no matter what they name me. My strength won't be snuffed, and my memories are my own. They can't erase our sense of self, child. Best believe that when you name yourself."_

"_So... can I pick a name right now?"_

_Nana chucked, running her fingers through the girl's coiled hair. "Take some time to think about it. Your name will stick with you until the end of time, after all."_

_So she thought long and hard about what to name herself, and when she finally decided on a proper moniker, she raced to see her Nana the next morning. _

_The white linen sheet was pure and unstained, the fabric simple. The men stared down at her as they carted the unmoving figure beneath the sheet out of the slave quarters, ice in their eyes as she stood with her back against the wall. She didn't feel the wetness trailing down her cheeks as she stared after the men and the figure beneath the sheet. Her breath came shorter and shorter, and she soon found herself on her knees, her palms pressed against the chilled ground. _

_She pushed all thoughts of the name out of her mind, as her body trembled with building anguish. _

A hand shook her shoulder, and the burning eyes of her brother came into focus. She shook her head, rubbing the back of her neck as the memory stayed fresh in her mind. "I remember."

"Then you know how important this is."

She nodded, and tried to give him a reassuring smile, though it may have appeared weaker due to long periods of not being used. It was about time she faced the inevitability of this moment. "I do. So then... what's your name?"

"Akin."

"'Brave,'" she stated. She recalled how Nana had once sat them all down when the day's toils were finished, and told them of her family in the land across the sea, describing the meanings behind their names.

He nodded. She shook her head, her lips pulling up in a small smile. Of course he would pick that name. "It fits you. You'd do best to remember the meaning when you doubt your strength of self."

The light in Akin's eyes was stronger than she had ever seen it. Good. Knowing her brother, that light will not be diminished easily, and they needed his will to carry them through the long path ahead. She turned to their younger brother, her eyes locked with his wide and knowing gaze. "And what about you? Have you picked a name?"

"Kelile," the boy said, the look in his eyes expectant.

"I ain't ever heard of that one before. Nana told you that?"

"Yes, she said it was from a different part of the land she came from. She told me it when you weren't around."

"Well, what does it mean then?"

"'Your protector.'"

She tipped her head in confusion, attempting to discern the reasoning behind his name. "Protector? For who?"

He scoffed impatiently, as if she were the densest person he had ever spoken to. "_You._"

She frowned, disbelieving. The thought of Nana suggesting it confused her, and she couldn't understand why her late grandmother would think that she somehow needed protecting, when she had always been encouraged to protect others. But she was hesitant to place doubt in Nana's decisions, as the woman had been far wiser than she could ever hope to be. She would not dissuade him, no matter how much the decision had puzzled her. "I see. It's your choice."

He nodded, though the look in the younger boy's eyes unnerved her. It was encompassing, as if he was aware of some greater secret she wouldn't ever be able to comprehend. What on God's green earth did Nana say to him all those years earlier? She shook her head.

"Akin. Kelile," she repeated their chosen names, looking at each of the boys in turn. She half-wished for a sliver of parchment with the names 'John' and 'Sam' printed on it, and imagined a ceremonial burning of the paper. She would have loved to see the light in their eyes as they watched the ink of their names wilting away in the flames.

It still felt a bit surreal, being free. She tried to push back the feeling earlier, so she could focus on finding land farther away from this wretched city, but it swelled up inside her heart, and she didn't hold back the contented smile this time. Finally picking names further cemented the thought in her mind, that this was reality, that they were free. Never in a million years had she imagined that this would actually be possible. She dreamed of it, and had even gone so far as to make hypothetical plans, but to finally be among free air was an experience better than she could have ever imagined.

Though she was hesitant to get too excited lest they find themselves captured, she was happier than she had been in a very long time. She was happy for her brothers, most of all. She wondered what their Nana might have said, if she were there.

"Let's keep moving then, we've got a lot of land to cover until we get out of the this area." She tapped at the compass in her pocket, turning back to the sideroad.

"Wait! You didn't tell us your name yet," Akin said, grabbing her shoulder.

She shrugged off his hand, cursing inwardly at being caught. She wanted to tell them later on, when things were settled and her mind was in a better place. "I-I don't..." Akin glared at her inscrutably, his lips pursed as Kelile crossed his arms. They both waited for her to tell them her chosen name, and it seemed like they weren't going to budge anytime soon. She sighed, admitting defeat. "It's-"

A sudden crack of thunder pounded from the heavens above, drowning out her answer. The rain fell upon them harder, and she rubbed her arms slowly. She felt the cold metal of the compass press into her skin from inside her pocket.

"Amara."

"Nana's name," Kelile murmured, gazing at her somberly.

"Yes..." she trailed off. Memories spent with her grandmother surfaced abruptly, as if speaking the name itself opened a floodgate of grief. Images flitted through her mind, of pleasant days filled with Nana's throaty humming, and ending with decadent tales before bedtime, and the haze of sudden grief threatened to overwhelm her already frazzled mental state. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, willing her strength to return; Nana didn't raise her to be so fragile. Not for her brothers, and certainly not for herself.

No, she needed to be strong like her Nana. Like her grandmother Amara.

Akin and Kelile didn't speak for a long time, both looking at each other rather then at her. Then Akin nodded, showing some semblance of reaction finally. "She wouldn't have given that name to anybody else," he said, his chapped lips pulling into a sad smile, attempting reassurance.

Amara tried to return the smile, though her heart felt laden in her chest.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Don't own nothin. __If any of the names in this chapter are not correct, or if anything is off about how I represented the __Kanien'kehá:ka, please tell me so I can try to fix it. _

_Notes: Another language is being spoken often in this chapter for an extended period of time, though I can't translate so I have it written in English. Just something to be mindful of. __Also, Kanien'kehá:ka, or People of the Flint, is the original term for the Mohawk people, so that's why you'll see it a few times in here instead of 'Mohawk.'__  
_

_____So I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but it's been sitting in my documents for weeks now so I decided to just release it already. _Thanks goes to my beta TX-Bluebonnet.

_**EDIT:** I always forget something important whenever I update. I just added in the middle of this chapter that deals with how Connor feels about the whole situation with his people and the Patriots. _

* * *

Connor rode hard and fast as dawn edged across the obsidian sky.

He did not intend to push his steed to its limit, and wished that he could slow down, but in his mind, every second that passed was a second wasted.

And so he rode on, his gaze sweeping across the wide expanse of countryside as the sun's weary light filtered through scattered clouds.

Earlier, Connor had woken long before the dawn, though his slumber was not deep. He became accustomed to not receiving enough sleep long ago, as fitful and restless as the nights were, and even preferred it that way. After all, how could one expect to get things done while they were deep in repose?

His horse, Konwakeri, preferred not to trek among the darkness, and so he had lain awake among the make-shift cot, gazing up at the starless night sky. He came to dread nights like that: nights draped in thick, suffocating silence, and with the silence often came restless contemplation. Reflection. In the still moments of those black nights, he thought often of his life, and the memories opened a flux of emotions that were difficult to restrain. Anger, hurt, confusion. Regret.

Connor had grunted in frustration then, turning on his side as Konwakeri finally stirred. She watched him with cloudy dark eyes, exhaling with deep, slow breaths. It was as if the animal had somehow sensed his inner turmoil, her ears pricked and alert. He inched toward her, stretching out a large hand to run across the expanse of her neck.

He decided to ride on. And so now, as the sun's warmth burned into the heavy white cloth on his back, the dark thoughts that threatened to creep out from the recesses of his mind were far easier to push back.

Connor was prepared to travel as far a distance as Konwakeri could handle, but as he observed the area ahead, an opening to a shrouded, woodland patch caught his eye. More specifically, it was the red liquid glistening amongst the blood leaves that gave him pause. Fallen branches were littered about the small area, the destruction too large for an animal of this valley.

Connor tied Konwakeri's reins to an upright tree, and set his attention upon the small patch. As Connor neared, he found it suspicious that the only sound he could make out was a still, ringing silence. The usual melody of morning birdsong was eerily absent, and he instinctively made his footsteps lighter as he entered the brush. His gaze, ever sharp and reticent, did not miss the specks of dark blood that littered his path. He bent down to catch the blood on his fingertips, attempting to pinpoint the scent, when he heard a soft noise from ahead.

In one fluid motion, Connor unfurled from his kneeling position and stalked forward, keeping his head low of the hanging branches. As he neared an opening in the thicket, the soft noise became clearer, and he could discern it to be a groaning sound. He concentrated on the sound banishing the silence ringing in his ears, and gripped the tomahawk at his hip.

When Connor at last emerged into the open thicket, he felt as though his heart had lept into his throat. Strewn across the vibrant grass were several Kanien'kehá:kan tribesmen. Bruises shone fresh upon their skin, and blood splattered the sewn patterns of their clothes. They were unconscious, from what he could tell, but barely breathing.

Connor's jaw was slack, and his grip on the tomahawk loosened as he tried to take in the scene in front on him. The rough groaning from earlier sounded from very near, and it jolted him out of his initial surprise. From his peripheral, slight movement caught his attention, and he crept forward to see one man attempting to move his arm. The others did not stir, though their breathing was still apparent.

As Connor kneeled, the man did not seem to immediately notice his presence. Connor touched the man's broken cheek, and quickly dug out medicinal herb and a water pack from his pouch. The man's eyelids peeled open as Connor put the water pack to his lips.

"Can you speak? What is your name?" Connor intoned in the Kanien'kehá:kan tongue, the Native words easily emerging from his lips.

The man weakly motioned for more water, his fingers clutching the pack as the liquid trickled down his shirt front. He nodded to Connor briefly. "Y-yes, I can speak, though... barely. My name is Atsiaktonkie," he rasped in their shared language.

"What has happened here?"

"The- they attacked us," a coughing fit interrupted his sentence, and he tried to catch his breath, feebly clutching at the grass below him.

Connor laid a hand upon Atsiaktonkie's shoulder in support, as he tended to the man's wounds. "It is alright, you are safe now. Who attacked you?"

"The soldiers," Atsiaktonkie finally answered on a heavy breath. "From... the fort nearby. They are angry that we... we..."

"They were angry that our tribes did not support them during the War," Connor finished for him, his brows furrowing as put the scene together mentally.

During the War, many Iroquoian tribes did not directly support the Patriots, and even lended help to the Redcoats due to the promise of securing their lands. Connor knew of the resentment felt toward the Natives for their action, or inaction to help the Patriots, and that pushing them further out of their own territory was now a standard practice. And there was little he could do about it.

Anger welled up inside of him, as his touch unconsciously became rough as he tended to Atsiaktonkie's injuries. He only realized the bruteness of his touch when Atsiaktonkie gave the slightest wince.

"Sorry," Connor muttered, easing his touch as he finished wrapping the bandages. He looked over the area again, watching as the unconscious men nearby took labored breaths.

"I will... look over my companions now that my strength is almost full. Thank you for your help, friend. Is there anything I can do to help you in return?"

Connor looked over the carnage once again, his heart heavy as he observed how beaten the unconscious men looked, their clothes bloodied and tattered and their breaths ragged. As his gaze absently traced the patterns stitched into their clothing, he couldn't help but to think of his own people. Content with their position in the valleys and forests, and willing to be peaceful so much as the Patriots did not act to unseat them.

Everything had shifted in such a short manner, and all under Connor's own nose.

For so long, he had encouraged the Clan Mother to stay neutral in the conflict between the British and the Patriots. To encourage their people to avoid it for as long as possible, and hopefully until the War was ended and relations could be settled again. Being linked to either side could only end in equal travesty for his people. For the Natives were outnumbered and outgunned by both the British and the colonists.

Though his tribe did not actively support the Redcoats, many others in the region did. And for who could blame them, when they were promised the security of their land, and that the Patriots would finally cease further pushing them back out of the own lands. Though the Patriots offered goods in exchange for the land, but it was mostly meager trade and soiled land that discouraged crops. But at the core, the colonists were frightened of the Natives, and simply wanted them gone completely.

It was not by good virtue that most tribes supported the British, however. Though they had promised that if they won the War, the Natives would be able to keep their land, the British had also made similar treaties in the past that were broken. The Redcoats were simply viewed as the lesser of two evils, and were treated by the tribes with equal wariness. And compared to the actions of the colonists, most tribes chose to side with the British.

And since Connor was so focused on protecting his own people, supporting the Patriots because they had promised to help them, he did not gain the hindsight until it was too late. He did contain hindsight to be aware of why and how the many other Mohawk tribes in the region supported the British.

So engrained in his path of liberation and freedom, which he fully believed that would only be granted by the Patriots, that even when the first wave of doubts trickled in, he could not imagine simply choosing another course.

And so, since the War was won by the Patriots, the colonists, bitter and angry about the Native's decision to support the British, were determined to drive them away. Even those who supported the Patriot's effort to liberate the nation.

However, now that Connor knew better, he was not certain that if the British had won, that things would have gone any differently at all.

"Yes, there is something that I need help with. Have you ever encountered the people of the Frontier lands?"

Connor watched as Atsiaktonkie's eyes widened, the older man's head bowing in recollection. Despite himself, Connor's breath hitched, and his fists clenched and unclenched as he waited for the man's answer.

"... We have not seen them."

Connor exhaled numbly as another shred of hope was stolen away from him. He nodded, and began to stand up when the man weakly clutched at his sleeve.

"Wait, friend. We did not meet the people of the Frontier, but we have heard whispers of their whereabouts during our travels. I cannot tell you more, but all I know is that they have since taken refuge somewhere near the New York countryside," Atsiaktonkie gazed up at him sadly, releasing the fabric of his white sleeve. "I'm sorry, but that is all I know."

It lined up with what the Patriot soldier told him in Boston. And any news was better than no news at all.

"Thank you. That is all the information I need for now," Connor nodded to the man. "Is there anything else I can do for you? I can try to locate the rest of your clan and alert them of what happened."

"Thank you, my friend. But... we have long been separated from our tribe ever since the Patriots pushed us out of our settlement. I fear they have been forced to move even further out of these lands," Atsiaktonkie lowered his head, closing his eyes tightly. "But I have hope that we will find them again, and we will finally be able to live in a peace of our own choosing. Somehow. Words cannot express how grateful I am for your presence. If I may know your name?"

"It is Ratonhnhaké:ton. And do not worry," Connor gripped the man's shoulder briefly, his fists clenched tightly. "I will find and punish the men responsible for what happened here."

Immediately Atsiaktonkie sat up, seizing Connor's sleeve again before falling into a coughing fit due to the sudden stress on his body. Connor tipped the flask to the man's lips, and waited until the fit passed. "N-no! You must not! It will only increase hostilities, and they will try to hunt even more of us for retribution. Please, Ratonhnhaké:ton , for a shred of our future safety, you must not seek them out."

"But they will continue to harass our people, if they are not brought to punishment. How can you let this continue?" Connor replied stubbornly.

"A few vermin, while vile and dangerous, are not worth the onslaught of a mob who are just waiting for an excuse to attack us. The few of us left will seek safer land eventually, but we already tread on thin ground as it is.

"Please, my friend. Please reconsider, for the sake of what will happen."

All Connor could do was bow his head as he considered Atsiaktonkie's words, his fingernails biting into his palm as he thought.

What Atsiaktonkie predicted was very likely to happen, as the colonists have already proved themselves hostile to Native folk, and wouldn't even need the slightest provocation to drive them out with even more brutality.

If he sought out their attackers, the consequences would be dire.

But if he didn't act, they would only be encouraged to continue in their harassment of his people.

His decision made, Connor laid his hands upon the man's own in one last gesture of reassurance, and began to make his way out of the clearing.

* * *

The men laughed gruffly as they recounted the earlier events of the day. They recalled how "the savage's eyes went as wide as a deers, before rolling into the back of his head." And the men cheered, joyous for getting back at those Natives who refused to support their side in the war.

Connor felt his teeth grit against each other as he watched the scene from behind a shadowed brush. His fingers clenched into fists, and he didn't fully register the pain as his nails dug into the calloused skin of his palms.

They would pay for what they've done. They would not get away with terrorizing the clans who originally owned the land they now stomped and desecrated upon. Not as long as Connor was there.

Images of the brutally beaten Atsiaktonkie flashed across his mind, the man so weakened that he could barely hold the flask of water to his lips. His unconscious and battered companions, inhaling ragged breaths as they recovered from their own injuries. Connor felt his anger flare to dangerous levels, as he listened to the men chuckle and laugh as if they hadn't just nearly beaten several Natives to death.

He began to step out of the brush, his fingers digging into the leather handle of his tomahawk. There were four men, still wearing their Patriot uniforms, nothing he couldn't handle. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw several women and children emerge, immediately grouping around the men as they greeted one another. Wives, sons, and daughters.

Men like them did not care if the Kanien'kehá:kan tribes also held wives and children, who would be displaced and lost after being forced to leave. Those men did not care of the Kanien'kehá:kan wives and children, who mourned their husbands and fathers when they were slaughtered for daring to retaliate. So why should he?

His people came first, above all.

So when Atsiaktonkie's words echoed back at him suddenly, as he edged closer to the grouping of colonists and soldiers, he shouldn't have been as surprised as was.

_For our future safety, you must not seek them out!_

Connor's movement halted, his gaze darting about the group as he vainly tried to block out the memory of Atsiaktonkie's desperate pleas. He must seek retribution for the sake of their people, he had to, Atsiaktonkie just did not understand. He crept forward, but each step began to feel heavy as the beaten man's words repeatedly imprinted themselves in his mind.

He almost let a sound of frustration slip from his lips as he crouched behind the brush again, the group continuing ahead, completely unaware of his presence. Connor cursed silently, his fingers shaking angrily upon the tomahawk's handle.

It would be much easier to seize the opportunity of this moment, to punish the men who sought to drive his people even further away from their own land. It would be a quick solution, one that would have immediate results and would teach them to stay away. Or so Connor had hoped.

But, even more likely, it would drive the colonists into a frenzy, giving more ammunition for them to go after the Natives. They are bitter and rage-filled now, but they would be downright bloodthirsty if he continued with this course of action.

He watched as the men smiled and laughed with their wives and children as they went about their duties, their muskets slung across their shoulders. They had no idea of what his people were suffering through.

No. That was wrong.

They did. They knew exactly what they were doing when they inflicted their own warped vengeance against Atsiaktonkie and his companions. They knew exactly what they were doing when they drove his own clan out of the Frontier valley.

Connor gritted his teeth as he turned and limped away in the opposite direction to where his horse was tied up, doing his best to block out the sounds of mirth and contentment as the colonists and soldiers carried on.

* * *

_The snow was stained with black liquid, heavy and sticky as the calloused soles of her feet dug into the soft terrain. No, not black. Only a very dark red. _

_Her movements were unnaturally slow, sluggish, as she tried to run. Every lift of her naked feet from the caging snow, every ragged breath she took, seemed to echo hazily. Why couldn't she move fast enough? She felt the salty dampness upon her cheeks, beginning to freeze in the cold air, as she dared to glance behind her._

_What she saw stopped her in her tracks. _

_It was the Native man who freed her family from the auction. His white hood was drawn up, and she tried to peer into its bleak shadows, desperate to see his eyes. His lips were set in a tight line, giving no indication of what he thought, and she took a step toward him, raising her arm as if to reach out to him. _

_She gasped when she saw the blood splattered across her fingers, and she shook uncontrollably. His whole face was visible now, and she shrank away from the steely look of accusation in his gaze. "Please... help me." Her mouth moved, but she couldn't hear the words as he began to back away from her. "No!" she tried to yell in vain, but he only turned away from her, his form shrinking in the distance. _

Amara woke with a start, her eyes wide and her breath hitched. She tried to calm herself, exhaling slowly, as she laid her hand upon her forehead. She wiped the heavy coating of sweat away with a noise of disgust, and rose, shaking her head as if the movement would get rid of the lingering images of the dream. She half expected to see the blood flecked across her fingertips.

Near the grassy patch they burrowed themselves in for the night, there was a creek nearby. Amara crept away, careful not to wake her brothers as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Shedding her clothes, she dunked herself quickly in the water, rubbing her arms as the morning chill set in. The curled ends of her hair pooled in the water as she let herself sink in to her chin.

Those types of dreams were getting to be a regular occurrence. Though the hooded Native was something new.

Amara closed her eyes as her body slowly adjusted to the water's temperature, her body sinking further until her nose was submerged. She supposed it wasn't a strange thing to dream of him, as he was the one who freed her and her family from a promised lifetime of slavery. She found herself feeling regretful for the callous way she dismissed him, in her haste to escape the cobbled streets of Boston.

But she recalled the way he looked at her in the dream, when he saw the blood on her hands. The blood that stained not only her fingers, but the snow that she struggled to run in. She inadvertently shivered, and tried to quickly push those thoughts away.

Amara rubbed harshly at her arms, trying to scrub away the dirt that was caked to her skin as she exhaled tightly, blowing bubbles across the surface of the water.

She wished that she more time just to contemplate, and really take in the gravity of what had happened the moment the Native man freed her. Hell, it still felt surreal, being out in the open like this, being able to do whatever she wanted, to say whatever she wanted without worrying about being in earshot of the owners, and bathe in water that wasn't sooted and grimy. Simple things; the medial daily occurrences were what shook her the most.

But Amara found that most of all, she was glad that she didn't have to worry about waiting in their cabin during one of those moonless nights, agonizing and worrying with the rest of the women, wondering if she would finally have to be the one the owner picked that night, to stay with him in the barn...

Amara shook the dark memories away, of the other womens' fearful, nervous faces. And how whoever was picked would be hugged and protected for long moments, until the owner called impatiently for the unlucky woman, and she was forced to tear away and wipe at the wetness on her cheeks, and begin her solemn journey to the barn.

Her eyes opened. Something soft and slimy brushed against her foot in the water.

As she peered into the clear morning water, she watched as a small school of fish hurried away from her. She remembered how Akin and Kelile complained about being hungry and rubbed their roaring stomachs. They had gathered corn from the fields they had traversed in days before, but their supply was quickly running out, and so was the boys' taste for the same food everyday. Amara was struck with an idea suddenly, one that involved catching the fish swimming below her feet and finally cooking something with meat.

But... she had never fished before. It couldn't be that hard. Could it?

And so Amara dove for the first fish that passed beneath her. The slimy creature slipped right through her fingers. Undeterred, she tried again. And again.

And again.

_Damn, they are fast as all hell! How did Nana ever manage to catch one of these things?_

Eight minutes later, an irritated and cursing Amara swiped at the water in frustration, her hand barely passing below the surface, and was surprised to feel a slimy feeling at her fingertips. She immediately closed her hand around the fish in a tight grip, and emerged from the water.

As Amara dried and placed the fish in a nearby makeshift basin, she tugged her fingers through her thick hair, trying to tuck the last vestiges of her earlier dream and the memories of her time at the owner's property back into the recesses of her mind. She didn't want to think about those things now. Today was a new day, and they had a lot of ground to cover. But first things first: she needed to build a fire to cook the fish.

The last remnants of last night's fire had burned out long ago, and so she gathered the spare wood Kelile had found the day before. Amara turned to the two boys who were snuggled close to each other for warmth. Akin's limbs were slung every which way as he snored gratuitously, while Kelile was curled into the fetal position, inhaling and exhaling softly. She frowned.

Usually Akin would be the one to build the fire, but for the first time he looked to be in a peaceful slumber, and she didn't want to disturb either of them. It would be nice for her brothers to wake up to a freshly cooked meal, for the first time in a long while.

She wasn't by any means a natural in forest survival, but building a fire couldn't be that hard.

Could it?

Amara sent a prayer to the heavens, and got to work on steeping the wood. When even a tiny spark didn't rouse, she tried again. And again.

And again.

Eight minutes later, she gave up. "Goddamit, how am I supposed to take care of those boys when I can't even build a fire!" Amara muttered to herself, glaring at the wood, as if she could will a fire into existence with the sheer power of her frustration.

Rising, she stomped over to where Akin lay, a trail of drool now visible upon his thin linen shirt, and was about to shake him awake when he rolled over onto his side, mumbling in his deep sleep. She watched him for a few moments more, before sighing softly and letting her shoulders droop.

They had survived this long on their own, and without Akin and Kelile she would've probably been dead ten times over. She was supposed to be their caretaker, yet already Akin had saved her life, and was building fires for her to boot! It wasn't supposed to be like that. She was supposed to be the strong one. That's what Nana had wanted, Amara was sure. She just needed to push herself harder if they ever had any chance of making it.

And so she returned to attempting to build the fire on her own, careful to not let her frustration get the better of her. And after ten minutes passed and she was sweating and her fingers were calloused and shaking with pent up irritation, at last that first spark of life flashed, and then billowed into a meager flame.

Soon, after the fish was nicely cooked, Amara shook her head and wiped her brow, and a proud smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she shook her brothers awake.

"Get up ya'll, breakfast is ready! We got fish!"

Akin groaned, shoving her hands away as he turned to his side. "Sis, why're you lying to us? We all know you can't fish, or build a fire to save your life. And why do you feel the need to wake us up this early in the mornin'?"

Amara made a face at his back, affronted. "It's almost noon-time. I should've gotten your lazy asses up _much _earlier. And as for that other comment you made... well," she plucked the cooked fish from its place above the fire and waved it in Akin's face. "Lookee here."

Akin looked at it all right. And squinted. "That it? You woke me up for _that_? I'm goin' back to sleep."

Amara smacked him upside the head as he grumbled below his breath. Kelile had sat up by then, rubbing at his eyes as he pushed at Akin's shoulder. He smiled at Amara in thanks when she gave him half of the fish, her features still contorted in irritation at the antics of their brother. "Thanks, Sis. I really appreciate it. Come on, Joh-" he stopped himself as he remembered what his brother's chosen name at the last second. "Akin. Sometimes I wonder if you inherited Uncle Juju's laziness."

Akin scowled, sitting up only to playfully jab at his brother's arm. As the two boys laughed and traded less than gentle hits with one another, Amara found herself grateful for their easy-going attitude at this time. So focused was she on reaching the city limits during these past few days, that she payed little mind to the undercurrents of her brothers' moods, so at first she found it difficult to believe that her brothers could maintain seemingly light smiles and easy banter. But she quickly realized that it was the only way that they could hide their fear, their doubt, and their worry. If she looked close enough, she could sometimes see the tightness in Kelile's seemingly easy-going smile, or the dark wariness that loomed in Akin's eyes. And she had also realized that sometimes they tried to deliberately lighten the mood so that she would ease up. And their efforts worked out most times, like now.

After Mama and Nana had passed on, her brothers were the only people whose presence she would ever allow herself to relax in. Not only for her safety, but for theirs as well.

She insisted on Akin having the other half of the fish, patting the corn in her pack when he looked at her in confusion. After her brothers finished eating, the trio soon set off, trekking across the grassy terrain as Amara repeatedly glanced at the compass gripped tightly in her hand. She figured that the edge of the forest was empty, so her surprise was double when she heard faint voices nearby.

She immediately motioned for her brothers to duck down into behind a thick patch, as she pressed herself against the bark of the nearest tree. She cursed inwardly as her heartbeat pounded in her ears, trying to hear what direction their new company was coming from. Their voices were not soft, their city accents heavy and rough as they stomped through the brush. Two men, she calculated, gripping the bark of the tree in an effort to still her trembling fingers.

"Did ol' Archie say how much he was gonna pay us for them?"

"Nah, but all I know is that it's a helluva lot. It'd better be, because I don't trudge through this dirt and grime for no cheap bit."

_They sent out hunters already, huh? _Amara thought, fighting hard to keep her quickly rising anxiety under control.

By now the only thing she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, and she tried to calm herself to no avail. All she could do was hope they wouldn't have the foresight to look behind trees. She glanced to where Akin and Kelile were, but was pleased to find that she couldn't see even see the top of their heads. They were getting better at this.

The men's voices were beginning to fade away to her relief, and when she was sure they were long gone she peeled herself away from the tree. She whistled softly, and Akin and Kelile emerged from their hiding place to meet her. Akin's chest was heaving with fear—excitement?- and his eyes were wild, while Kelile looked like he was ready to pass out.

"This is gonna be an everyday thing ain't it?" he muttered, his gaze darting up to meet her own.

Amara laid a hand upon Kelile's shoulder, finally releasing the tight breath she didn't realize she was holding in. "Maybe. Definitely."

They both jumped when Akin slammed his palms together, the fire in his eyes threatening to burn the nearby foliage. "Know what? I _hope _they see us one day. I'll be ready for them."

Amara jabbed his shoulder, hard, giving him a disaproving look until he calmed down somewhat. When she moved ahead, leading them further into the forest, Akin trailed after her with his fists clenching and unclenching as Kelile watched his brother warily.

"It was easy today," Amara began. "But I have a feeling that soon, they're gonna come after us even harder. And they might even find us. But when that happens," she looked back to Akin, and he met her eyes with a surprising level-headedness. "I need you to save all your energy and your passion and your _anger,_ for that day."

Akin nodded shortly, and the wrinkle between his brows only deepened as the voices of the slave hunters trailed into the distance.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. I'm in need of a beta, and if you want to help or know anyone who would be interested in beta-ing a fic like this and could help, I would really appreciate it._


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything aside from my own characters._

_Note: I updated the ages of the trio since it didn't work well as I kept writing out the story, specifically in Kelile's case._

_Amara-23_

_Akin-19_

_Kelile-16_

_I went back to the first chapter and slightly changed some things around to better reflect Kelile's updated age. Sorry for any confusion. _

___Thanks goes to my beta TX-Bluebonnet._

* * *

Raindrops pounded against Connor's hood with increasing force as he tried to maneuver Konwakeri out of the thick of the storm. She whinnied in protest as he tugged on the reins, murmuring to her in the best soothing tone he could muster. Konwakeri's normally perky ears were nearly pinned to her head, her agitation obvious. A horse caught in a storm was an even greater recipe for disaster, as easily nervous as the animals were. So the only course of action Connor could take was to somehow find shelter for Konwakeri to settle in until the worst of the storm passed.

A nearby crack of lightning foiled his efforts to comfort the frightened animal, and she nearly knocked him to the ground when she reared back suddenly. Connor cursed and tightened his grip on the reins, the rope slippery with water, and urged Konwakeri on. He had spotted an abandoned hut when they had stopped, and knew that if he could just get the horse under the dripping roof, at least one of his troubles would be solved.

Konwakeri wasn't going to make it easy for him, though.

Thunder raged as black clouds edged across the heavens, rain punishing those unfortunate enough to be caught on the ground below. And at this moment, Connor was particularly thankful for the curved beak of his hood, as the heavy raindrops easily slipped off the fabric.

As winter had just marked its end, it was customary to expect the occasional rain shower. However, heavy storms like the one Connor was currently caught in were a particular surprise and provided little warning; he hadn't even witnessed the sky darkening and the wind picking up earlier**, **and wasn't even given enough time to make it to the next inn for shelter for Konwakeri.

So Connor was stuck in the thick of the storm, his leather moccasins buried deep in mud and attempting to half-haul, half-soothe a nervous Konwakeri into the nearest make-shift shelter. And after nearly losing his balance and falling backwards into the mud for the nth time, his patience was almost at its dire limit. Konwakeri pushed against him forcefully, her yellow teeth nipping at his hood, as if blaming him for dragging her through this wretched storm. He would apologize to her later.

Luckily he began to feel the pressure of the rain subsiding slightly, as they neared the cover of the hut.

Though the horse was still anxious, her movements gradually became less erratic as she inched inside the hut. There was no need to tie her to a post, as she would stay inside the hut until the worst of the storm passed. Her ears shifted between perking up and laying flat, and the warm air exhaling through her nostrils blew across Connor's face.

Connor ran a hand across the wide expanse of her neck, entangling his fingers in her course hair and patting her gently and soothingly as she calmed down. "I must go now, Konwakeri. You know your way back," he murmured to her as she nuzzled her face into his shoulder. "Maybe we will see each other again soon."

Connor emerged from the hut, immediately feeling the pelting raindrops upon his head as he resumed on his way. Each step he took was sinking and labored, but it was only a mild irritant. The ground, soaked and soft, threatened to swallow him into its muddy reaches, but he marched on, unfazed even as the storm raged against him.

Nothing would get in his way.

* * *

"Can we stop now?"

"I'm hungry."

"I'm tired."

"I'm thirsty."

"My legs are killin' me."

"This rain is too much."

"Can we stop now?"

"Are you sure we goin' the right way?"

"_Yes, _for the love o' God and all that is holy in this world, _we can stop._"

Amara had finally had enough. Her brow twitching slightly, she turned to finally look at her brothers in exasperation. After wandering all day in search of shelter from the storm, the trio had finally found themselves in a small binding of trees that deflected the worst of the rain. Kelile was wearing a doe-eyed expression that even a blind man could see through, as he feigned innocence in response to her irritated glare. She knew better. Akin wore his exhaustion and agitation openly, even going so far as collapsing on the ground with a sigh of relief. He rubbed his calfs, sore and stiff from their morning long expedition.

"Finally, she listens to reason! Look, Sis, I know these muscles are big and nice and all," Akin said, gesturing to his quads. "But even they need a rest every once in awhile!" Kelile nodded, slumping down next to Akin and falling on his back.

Amara resisted the urge to roll her eyes at them both, and turned to survey their surroundings for any sign of trouble.

In her determination to get as far away from Boston as possible, she had forgotten the few cons that would come with traveling with her brothers. That is, their keen ability to tag-team her whenever they really wanted something.

She was usually able to fight them off, intimidating them with an 'oh really' glare and and a threatening raise of her fist, and they would back down, grumbling in defeat. But this time, well... she had to remind herself that as dire as their circumstances were, those boys were only, well—boys. So... maybe she was being a bit too hard on them. An all consuming will to escape would eventually be caught up by a raging stomach and burning muscles.

She needed to take the small time to rest, anyhow. It wouldn't be for that long.

"You know you never told us exactly where we are going," said Akin from his leisurely position on the ground. His arms were propped behind his head, as he gazed up at the grey sky through the trees overhead. "I hope—I _know_, that you'll do your best to get us someplace safe. But an explanation is long past due, Sis."

Amara keenly felt the weight of the compass in her pocket, heavy and somber. She considered his words, thumbing the cold surface of the compass as she exhaled slowly.

"You remember, when we were little, how we all used to gather 'round the lanterns at night, and the grown folks would tell us stories of their lives? Like where they been, where they wanted to go..."

"Yeah," Kelile nodded, sitting up in attention as she knelt down in front of them. "And Nana would whack ol' Juju across the head with her cane for whispering smack about her in his stories."

"Yeah, and that's what he deserved! He'd be describing the other women in his stories with _too_ much detail. That man was a sure fire _dog_," Amara shook her head, though despite the exaggerated fierceness of her words, she smiled fondly in memory.

"Yeah," agreed Akin. "I wanna be like him when I grow up."

Amara rolled her eyes, and waved a hand dismissively. "But anyway. You guys 'member how they would tell us stories of what might've been outside the property? Outside the city even."

Akin and Kelile nodded, the latter's attention raptly focused on her as she spoke, while Akin's gaze suddenly became distant.

"They said that outside the city, some black people did things on their own," Kelile said.

"They were free. They didn't have nobody who owned them. But," Amara paused, lowering her gaze as she drew patterns in the dirt. "They lived far outside the cities here."

"How far?"

"I... I don't really know. I just know that Nana said a lot of them went high up. High up... north, to a land where nobody was allowed to own us."

Kelile's eyes nearly budged out of their sockets as his mouth dropped open. He glanced all around, looking to an unimpressed Akin and even shaking his brother, as if he couldn't believe how measured Akin seemed. "Isn't that crazy?! I can't believe it... nobody owning us." He shook his head in disbelief. "We have to go there!"

Akin rolled his eyes, and sat up, propped on his elbows. He tore his arm away from Kelile's excited grip, glaring at his brother. "Don't you get it? There ain't enough black people that make it there for them to even have enough for slaves!"

Kelile backed away from his brother, staring at him with confusion in his eyes. "What're you talkin' about?"

Akin leaned toward him, his expression filled with exasperation and anger. "They get _killed_. They die if they try to escape. And if some of the lucky ones do get out, they get hunted, they get caught, and they get lynched." He imitated the action in a crude gesture, making choking sounds and rolling his eyes back into his head as he strung an imaginary rope around his neck. Kelile blanched, and tore his gaze away from the sight. Satisfied, Akin turned to Amara finally, glaring at her accusingly. "And _we_ are gonna get killed, too. I can't believe this is what you're doing, what you want us to do. You're chasing after this dumb-ass dream that's gonna get us all ki-"

Amara was up faster than he could calculate, and she had the fabric of his collar gripped between her shaking fingers. Her eyes burned with the weight of her anger, her lips trembling with an undercurrent of frustration, but her voice was as clear and low as if nothing at all was amiss, as if they were still chatting amicably like moments before.

Here it was. Amara expected this, she knew of it. Under the pretense of laziness and a seemingly lighthearted attitude, Akin was battling the trench of despair that threatened to swallow him whole. He could keep it together for a long time, but she knew. She knew because she fought it herself, day in and day out.

But she wouldn't ever let it get the best of her.

"They won't."

Akin met her glare, though his gaze was less steady, more uncertain as his breath exhaled in short, shaky huffs. He didn't answer her.

"They won't lay a finger on either one of ya'll. I will have to be killed, I will _kill_, before I ever let that fuckery pass."

Kelile watched the scene nervously, his gaze darting between the two as they squared off. He tried to speak, but his voice faltered weakly, and so he settled on just waiting for the confrontation to end.

"Akin. You just said that you trusted me. I'll need you to keep your word, just like how I'll keep mine. We are gonna get out, and we are gonna be free. I swear my life on it," Amara said, her voice never rising from its low pitch. "And no one is gonna be doing the worrying, except for me. Do you understand now, Akin? Kelile?"

Kelile nodded shakily, his shoulders hunched still in nervousness. Akin only stared at her for a long moment, his lips curled in a tight, trembling line. The emotion behind his eyes warred with his mind, and she understood the anger simmering in their brown depths. The anger at her, at the circumstances they suddenly found themselves in.

But he would get himself together, and he would fight for them with just as much vigor as Amara. Of that she had no doubt. And she was even more certain when he slowly, somberly nodded, exhaling through his nose. His eyes glinted in a hidden understanding that was shared between each of them, escaping the notice of Kelile.

Amara released his collar, and flexed her fingers behind her back, stiff from being in the cramped position for so long. She turned to Kelile, and tried her best to give him a reassuring smile, and was rewarded with a tiny, nervous smile edging across his own features.

Suddenly a rumbling was heard, loud and unbidden, threatening in its fierceness. She turned to the two teenage boys, her eyebrow arched pointedly, the previous tension in the air quickly dissipating.

Akin looked at her accusingly while his stomach continued to roar, and Kelile rubbed his belly in a sheepish manner.

"Yeah. I know, I know," she held her hands up in surrender. "I'll go see if I can find something for us to eat. Maybe fish?"

"Uh," the two exchanged a doubtful look, with Akin snorting in derision. Amara glared at him.

"What?"

"Umm, it's nothin'," Kelile started, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, maybe I should do the fishing this time? I've done it before, I know where to go and who to watch out for!"

"But why? I can fish pretty good."

"Oh, you know... I-I just... don't want to see you upset when you don't catch nothin.' I mean-" Kelile rushed to amend his error when he saw Amara crossing her arms and glaring at him. "It's not like we aren't happy that you're tryin', we-we don't mind really!" Kelile tried to reassure his older sister, but the poor boy was failing terribly.

Akin scoffed. "Speak for yourself. I'm pretty upset that my own sister can't fish worth a damn."

She huffed, her feelings briefly hurt. "Then why don't you do it, o' big and mighty Master of Fish?"

"Nah, I think I'd rather relax. You know, regaining my energy."

Amara threw them both a disparaging look before plopping onto the ground, facing away from them both as her nose turned up in annoyance. "Then I guess ya'll are gonna have to find your own food somehow, since you think I'm so bad at it!"

When Akin shrugged and went back to laying on the ground, Kelile sighed sheepishly and rose. "This is why I volunteered to do it in the first place..." he muttered, briefly looking back at his siblings. Amara still stubbornly ignored them both, finger-drawing patterns in the soft dirt, while Akin soon began to snore in slumber. Kelile shook his head, and set out quickly.

* * *

Sometimes, Kelile wished that Amara would let him go on his own like this more often. It only seemed that when her attention faltered would she permit him to do as he pleased for once. He felt a little bad about purposely getting a rise out of her by insulting her fishing skills, just so that she would let him go, but it would be worth it.

How else was he supposed to prove himself? Not only to her, but to Akin as well. Akin was older than him, but Kelile could easily tell that Amara looked to him as their _stronger_ brother. But how could he prove that he was just as strong as Akin, when she insisted on hovering over him all the time?

Even in such an activity as menial as fishing, he would show her that he had what it took to start taking care of himself.

Kelile came upon a hillside, overlooking the valley. The scent of wet grass hung heavy among the air, misty and sodden as the rain shifted into a lighter drizzle. He kept low to the grass, the tall green tendrils damp and drooping slightly as he moved among its cover. After that stint with the slave hunters the other day and the subsequent lecturing on safety precautions from Amara, Kelile did his best not to risk being seen. But searching for a small pond was harder than it seemed, as their were many large puddles littered about the area from the rainfall.

As Kelile surveyed the area, looking high and low for even the smallest sign of life, he was suddenly shook out of his concentration by loud yelling from somewhere nearby. Under the cover of the grass, he crept as close as he could to the edge of the hillside, and peered in confusion at the scene below.

There were several Natives, clearly holding restraining their anger, and were being harassed by an even greater number of colonists who wore their rage openly. Kelile watched the colonists shout at the Natives, gesturing obscenely and taking small, threatening steps each time the Natives tried to speak. Kelile felt his hackles rise, and his hands curled into fists as he watched the scene unfold, hoping that the situation wouldn't escalate.

His hopes went unanswered as one of the colonists, a burly, bearded man, suddenly lept into action, and his hands were quickly wound around one of the Native's throat.

Before Kelile could even think of what to do next, his feet had apparently decided for him, and he quickly found himself running in the direction of the quickly risen chaos below.

Somehow, deep beneath the surge of adrenaline and the cloud of anxiety and fear over what was happening, Kelile knew that he was doing something very, very stupid. Something that would make Amara and Akin boil with anger at his reckless actions. He imagined Amara yelling at him for throwing himself into a situation that would cause great hurt and pain, and risk being hauled away to another slave owner. Kelile had always strived to be in Amara's good graces, and disappointing her had simply been unfathomable.

But if Kelile didn't act now, he would be greatly disappointed in himself for his own inaction. This is what they had to do now, to survive in this world; he needed to learn how to act on his own. This was how he could prove himself.

_Please don't be angry at me, Sis, but I need to help them. _And so Kelile put to rest the lingering doubts and the visual of his siblings' angered expressions, and tried to tuck his fear deep away as the colonists finally noticed his presence.

"Run!" he shouted to the Natives as the colonists turned their attention to him fully. The weak punch he sent to a nearby colonist was easily caught, and the wind was knocked out of him after a retaliatory shove, and soon he was being kicked and screamed at on the ground. Though Kelile found that the only pain he felt was for the Natives who had refused to run, and were now being just as brutally beaten as he was.

Kelile spat blood, and exhaled weakly. He spoke quietly as darkness began to creep across his vision, the hard _thud _of the kicks against his stomach constant and numbing. "I'm sorry," Kelile whispered, watching helplessly as a Native man collapsed to the ground in front of him, and Kelile soon lost consciousness.

* * *

_So you all might be thinking "okay, well this is nice and all, but are Amara and Connor **ever** going to meet and/or bang?!" _

_Well, all I have to say to that is__I really suck at OC x canoncharacter stories and I'm probably doing it all wrong and I just really have no idea what I'm doing. But that time will be very, very soon! Hopefully._

_"I see you shiver with antici_

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_...**pation**."_


	6. Chapter 6

_Warning: Use of course language, more so towards the end. _

_AN: Since this is one of the most important chapters in the story, it would naturally be longer. Buuut I got a bit too rambly, so now it's even longer than I had planned :/_

_Thanks goes to my beta TX_Bluebonnet. _

* * *

A feeling of sullenness had settled itself deep in the pit of her stomach, threatening to sink her entire being into a pool of worry and distress. It was a feeling so strong that she couldn't ever imagine ignoring it or pretending that it would go away if she didn't do something at this very moment. Amara had only ever felt that way on one other occasion, and it still clawed at her consciousness to this day. And on that other occasion, events did not end particularly well.

Kelile hadn't come back yet.

It was not like her youngest brother to take so long; on his other fishing trips, if things didn't work out, he would come back and ask Akin for assistance. But she hadn't seen him emerge from the shroud of wilderness at all.

She immediately regretted letting him go on his own.

She tried to stifle the feeling of dread, at least temporarily, and shook Akin awake. "Get up. Get-up!" she urged him.

He opened his mouth to protest, but seemed to think better of it when he caught the intense expression in her eyes. "What is it? Where's Kelile?" He asked Amara as he followed her out of the brush.

"That's why I woke you. He didn't come back." She quickened her pace as the two made their way to the hillside looking over the valley. "I'm worried," she added quietly.

Akin stopped abruptly when they finally reached the top of the hillside, anything he planned on saying immediately caught in his throat.

He was already tearing down the hill with Amara close at his heels, her eyes wild and pinned on the smaller shape that was crumpled on the ground, and the two siblings ran as fast down the hill as gravity would allow. They did not acknowledge each others' presence as they ran, their only goal to get to the small, beaten person that was still far below them, surrounded by the limp and unconscious bodies of what looked to be several Natives. Still, Amara and Akin worked in tandem even as their minds were blank with shock and fear and worry, and as they reached the flat ground, Akin took one long, pained look at his younger brother before turning away to guard his sibling's against the attacking colonists.

Amara paid no mind to the enveloping scene, she couldn't, for her attention was so focused on tending to a barely conscious, battered Kelile.

"No... no, no, no, no," was all she could murmur, as her shaking fingers roamed over his bruised face helplessly. "I-we'll get you help, just please, stay with me, Kel."

The boy's eyelids fluttered, and she couldn't tell if he had even heard her as she cradled his head in her lap, fighting back the sorrowful and angry tears that threatened to streak down her cheeks.

Amara didn't know what to do. That much was clear. Her mind was so blank with worry and frustration that she couldn't single out even one useful thought that would immediately help Kelile. And besides, what could she do, really?

Three_ escaped_ slaves had an even lesser chance of being helped than if they were still owned.

So all she could do was hold Kelile's head up to keep him from choking on his own blood, and hate herself even more for being so useless.

And when his eyes finally clenched shut, she felt her body go cold with panic as she tapped at his cheeks repeatedly, saying his name louder each time.

"No, NO! Don't do this, I'm sorry, I-I should have never let you go out on your own, just please... don't do this!" she rasped, and her breaths came in ragged and hoarse as she checked his pulse when he wouldn't wake again.

And just as she felt the shallow beating of his heart beneath the sweat-stained skin of his neck, she heard heavy footsteps behind her.

As she turned to peer at the person intruding on this private, dire moment, Amara hated the way her hands shook in uncontrollable fear as she spotted Akin several feet away, gripping his torso in agony as he tried to call to her and Kelile. She hated the way she reacted because she couldn't do more to help save them both as the man approached, a leery smile settling upon his broad face.

With one last worried look to Kelile, she rose quickly, and guarded her youngest brother from further danger as best she could. When the man took her jaw in a rough grip, Amara felt blood pooling in her mouth as she bit her lip to keep from snarling in anger. How dare a slimy, disgusting cur like him touch her? How dare the man who could have been the cause of both Akin and Kelile's pain gently stroke her cheek, as if he wasn't about to break her as well?

Just for this moment, her sorrow and worry were gone, replaced by a stark, boiling rage.

"Oh well look here boys, we got ourselves a coon bitch, too. She looks pretty feisty, but she can be broken," he inclined his head, squeezing her jaw painfully. "Well say something, bitch. Or are you still in shock over what we did to that little one down there? You know, we can rough him up some more if it'll get you-"

He screamed in shock and pain when the skin on his hand broke, her teeth sunken into the fleshy part between his thumb and index finger.

She couldn't recall ever seeing his other hand rise, but the impact of the slap still sent her reeling backwards.

As Amara collapsed onto the damp ground, her teeth rattling with each blow the man's foot delivered to her stomach, she found herself glad, oddly enough. She was relieved that at least their attention was no longer focused on beating her brothers, as the few colonists left were now circled around her shaking form. As the man who first approached her cursed in anger and pain, his palm still bleeding as he kicked her, his fellows were cheering and hollering as the brutality continued. Her breathing was halting, as she felt thick fingers wrap around her neck, their nails digging into her skin, and she deliberately spat blood onto his hands. His grip tightened.

She didn't expect them to let up, not really. For if men like these could beat a small boy like Kelile into unconsciousness, they could do much worse to her.

But it was only when she began to feel the edge of her consciousness slip away, that the attack halted abruptly. Barely aware of what was going on, she peeled her eyes open to survey her surroundings. Amara could scarcely believe that the group of colonists were backing away. They were angry and jeering, but their retreat continued nonetheless. And when she caught shadowed forms looming above her, she didn't have the energy to be bothered to try and even discern what was happening, and instead she welcomed the darkness as it closed over her blurred vision.

* * *

The first thing Amara noticed when she woke was the splitting headache that pounded with even the slightest movement. As she gradually adjusted to the hard reality of consciousness, the throbbing of her head made itself known with every blink of her weary eyes.

The second thing she noticed was that she couldn't really feel her face as she absently wiped away the saliva tricking from her lips. The inside of her mouth felt impossibly dry and cavernous, and she found herself doubting her ability to even speak. As she wiped away the drool from her lips, she winced as she brushed the skin of her cheek, and she realized that the reason she couldn't feel her face was because it was incredibly swollen and bruised. Amara had no doubt that if she were to see her reflection, the bruises would probably be a dark and mottled purple by now.

As her head pounded in warning at the slight movement, she was prevented from being able to think coherently, and was unable to adequately consider her surroundings aside from the dense blackness she was enveloped in. Yet as brutal as her headache was, it wasn't enough to blind her to the third thing she finally noticed, or didn't notice, in that moment: her brothers.

Amara stood up, and immediately regretted the quick movement as she felt a jabbing pain in her side and neck. Slowly, achingly, the memories of what happened before she lost consciousness pooled into her mind. Kelile, already unconscious and badly beaten. Akin, groaning in agony on the ground and stubbornly trying to reach her and Kelile. And Amara herself, being hit and kicked in the side, over and over again.

Her teeth gritted in anger and pain as she clutched at her stomach, leaning against whatever support there was in the enclosed, dark space, gasping as she tried to catch her breath. The agony of both the headache and her bruised ribs, along with the excruciating anxiety over her brothers, threatened to cripple her right then and there.

She thought of Kelile, innocent and undeserving of the pain he went through, and Akin, rage filled and ready to take vengeance, no matter how impossible the odds were. She tried to block out the worry and and anger over the wounds they received. And she soon found that tiny well of strength in the image of her brothers, the only family she had left, grasped onto it for dear life, and stepped forward.

There was a small swatch of light peeking into the darkness that surrounded her, and she fought her mind and her body to reach it. She didn't know what the light might bring, its secrets an even greater mystery than the blackness that shrouded her, but she didn't care. Wherever Kelile and Akin were right now, _that_ was where she needed to be.

She couldn't fail them again - not anymore than she already had.

But as Amara walked out of the darkness expecting the worst possible scenario, her movements halted when she was confronted with the best. In the large camp she found herself in, she spotted Akin and Kelile farther up ahead with a group of Natives. She found her feet already moving of their own accord, and though her balance was wobbly and she felt dizzy with every step, she forced herself to push on. She slowly tried to make her way through the camp, so focused on seeing her brothers up close that she wasn't aware of the many pairs of eyes that tracked her every movement. It wasn't until she felt a warm hand take hold of her arm in a gentle grip that she finally snapped out of her concentrated daze.

It was one of the women of the tribe, her glossy braided hair drifting in the slight breeze as she looked over Amara. Memories of her time spent cleaning the outside of their owner's house filtered into her mind suddenly, when she overheard the conversations the people inside were having. What was it they called the Natives of this area? Mohawk?

The woman scolded her vehemently in the Mohawk tongue, her words heavy and emphasized as she pointed to Amara's bruised ribs and the swollen skin of her face and neck, and she had a clue of what the woman was saying even though she didn't understand the language. The woman took off the shawl she wore and draped it over Amara's shoulders. And as she finally looked down upon herself, she realized that the tunic she had worn was gone, and all that was in its place were only bandages. Amara found herself doubly grateful for the woman's consideration. She pointed in the direction ahead, trying to ignore the pain in her ribs as she raised her arm.

"My-my brothers," she croaked out, her voice cracked and raspy from disuse, and gestured to the two boys farther ahead. The woman halted her scolding, and glanced in the direction of where Amara pointed, and she soon sighed, nodding slowly. Taking hold of Amara's shoulders, she guided her to where her brothers were, chattering amicably with several Mohawk men. She was embarrassed to find herself leaning onto the woman for support, but she did not yet have the strength to move away.

As she finally took the time to survey her surroundings, her jaw dropped when she looked up. The sight of many towering trees, imposing and protective, intimidated her, as their branches drooped dangerously close to the camp and sheltering all who resided there. Their leaves, vibrant and nurtured with the arrival of spring, were a dizzying sight as they spread over the reach of the sky. But as she looked closer, she was alarmed to catch the movements of various figures, wearing stitched, patterned clothing, passing through the enveloping branches, graceful and coordinated, and she found herself holding her breath in case one of the figures fell. But none of them did, and they soon disappeared out of sight.

Confused and completely unable to comprehend what she just saw, Amara's gaze finally tore back down, and she watched as the people of the tribe carried on with their duties, but still taking lingering glances at her as she made her way across the camp with the woman. There weren't many people, as far as she could see, and many looked to be either elderly or children. It seemed that the majority of the tribe's members were gathered around her brothers farther ahead. Amara watched as several children tore across the camp, laughing and cheering as they played. But she noted that they each time the children veered a little too close to the edge of the camp, they would get a severe warning scold from a nearby adult, and they seemed to deliberately keep their voices low, as if what or whomever loomed beyond the protective shroud of trees would hear them. They also glanced at Amara curiously, whispering amongst themselves as they passed.

At this moment, she felt very much like an outsider, and wished that she could just grab her brothers and steal off into the night.

Wait. Night? She glanced at what she could see of the sky between the trees, and wondered for just how long she was out.

The Mohawk woman beside her tapped her arm as they finally stepped close to her brothers, the group they were surrounded by hovering close and several elderly women tending to their wounds. Amara's eyes focused on Kelile and Akin as they spoke to one of the women.

One domineering emotion clouded over her mind and heart as she approached them, her gaze roving over Akin's swollen black eye and bandages covering the majority of his upper body. The part of his face that wasn't bruised was grim and tight as he occasionally touched his arm, as if the limb still pained him.

Emotion threatened to swallow Amara whole, clutching her tightly in its regretful embrace as she finally turned to look at Kelile. His arm was in a makeshift harness, and hand prints were visible all over his neck, as if he had been choked before he lost consciousness. Just as she had. His bottom lip was swollen and cut, but to Amara's utter bewilderment, he still tried to smile at the Natives gathered round, as if he wasn't just beaten senseless only hours before.

It seemed that his eternal optimism refused to be diminished, no matter what the circumstance. She wondered how he ever managed to turn out that way, and the remorseful emotion nagged and pulled at her heart as the boys finally became aware of her presence, turning to her in surprise.

"Amara!" Kelile tried to grin brightly at her, and he would have succeeded. If not for the wince right afterward.

Guilt lashed at her being, and her heart writhed in feelings of regret and shame at herself. He should not be smiling. He should not be happy to see her. She was the reason he was so battered and beaten, and still... he would not stop smiling.

Amara wouldn't speak, couldn't speak, as her mind went blank and her voice was robbed from her control the second she saw her brothers, seeing them both alive and... so beaten down. She didn't want to meet either of their gazes that were now filled with worry and concern as she looked at the ground, the woman beside her trying to hoist her up again for support.

"Amara?" spoke an older man. His features were rigid and his head bare, except for a small square of hair on the back crown of his head. She'd never seen such a hairstyle like that before. She focused on him, determined to face anyone but her brothers at the moment. "My name is Karonhià:ke. This is Oiá:ner, the Clan Mother, and Ie:teron, who has watched over you since we brought you back," he gestured to the elderly woman standing beside him, and to the woman at Amara's side. "We have been waiting for you to awaken. It has been many hours since the colonists attacked both of our people," he gestured to Akin and Kelile, and all she could do was nod. "They are still very angry at us even after their War, and have been attacking our people with every chance they get. We have lost many of our clan warriors to their attacks, and would have lost even more if it weren't for this young one here, who was ready to sacrifice himself for our own welfare."

Kelile bowed his head sheepishly, nodding as one of the women smiled at him gratefully. She spoke to him in the Mohawk language, and Ie:teron translated for Kelile to understand. "She says that you fought bravely and without fear. Her partner has not awoken yet, but he would have been much worse off if you hadn't intervened," Ie:teron said, and looked to all three siblings in turn. "We are grateful that you all were there."

"But we-" Amara tried to speak, and cursed inwardly when her voice failed her. Akin picked up for her, even though she still would not face him.

"We can't take that credit. Our brother was in danger, and we had to help him no matter what. I wish that things would've gone different, and we could've went in just to help ya'll."

Karonhià:ke nodded, murmuring to the Clan Mother beside him in low tones, and turned to face the trio again. "We understand. If our roles were switched, we would have thought of our own first. But it still stands: both of our people were brought into that fight, and I am sorry that you had to experience such pain as well. Now, you all need time and rest to recover fully. You may stay at this camp until you are ready and able to continue on your journey. But," he turned to Amara, a pensive expression across his strict features. "The youngest one has told us that you all were traveling north, to a land above the colonies. We believe the colonists call it, ah, what was it in your language... 'Upper Canada.' We know which land it is, because we have been desiring to go there since long before their war ended."

"Yeah, here's the part that won't be good news," Kelile murmured to Amara in warning, attempting to prepare her for the meaning of Karonhià:ke's words to be revealed.

Karonhià:ke nodded. "As your brother says, it is not good news. It seems that you three have been traveling in the wrong direction. We are near the colonist city of New York."

Amara was unable to grasp his words, their meaning seeming to elude her as she tried to take in just what he was saying. She couldn't believe it. "New... York?" she croaked out, her lips dry.

"It's the damn opposite of where we've been tryin' to go all along," she heard Akin say from behind her, and an immediate stab of guilt shuddered through her form.

"But... my compass," Amara absently took the compass from her pocket, her fingers quickly grazing over the glass surface as she stared down at it, her anger and confusion rising steadily.

Karonhià:ke looked at the compass in her shaking hands, and exhaled slowly. "I am sorry, Amara. That device may been broken all along."

The Clan Mother watched her silently, her expression unreadable as Amara bowed her head.

She chuckled. Out of genuine amusement at her own failings or despair, she couldn't tell. But she gripped the compass tightly and shoved it back into her pocket, feeling the energy sap from her bones as the information firmly lodged itself into her mind. A cold feeling settled deep inside her heart. "I need some time to cool off," was all she said, and ducked out of Ie:teron's grasp, nodding to her in thanks.

Her brothers immediately made to follow her, and she halted them, looking them in the eye for the first time since she awoke. "Alone."

They didn't offer any further protest, and she slowly made her way to the edge of the camp, settling against the bark of one of the towering trees, clutching her stomach as her ribs ached in warning.

Amara truly wanted to cool off, to try to block out the influx of muddled thoughts threatening to break through the dam of her psyche. And luckily, or unluckily, her earlier headache had made its return, turning even the most minor, pestering thoughts into simple background noise.

So Amara closed her eyes and focused on the various sounds of the forest. The chirping of birdsong that seemed to flow all around her, a distant howling into the night sky, and stranger sounds that she couldn't even begin to identify.

It was soothing, and she marveled at how much she could be aware of if she just quelled the constant murmuring of her mind and the subsequent dark feelings that rose in her heart.

Feelings of anger. Of shame. Guilt.

Unbidden, the words she had said only hours earlier drifted into her mind, heavy with implications and consequence.

_'I will kill before I let any of them lay a hand on either of you.'_

Her mind conjured images of the scene of the fight, of Kelile unconscious and bloodied, and Akin beaten and shaking in pain. Her head pounded in warning as her thoughts treaded into that familiar, morose territory, but it wasn't enough to halt them.

Her brothers trusted her. Her Nana trusted her. And Amara failed them.

She failed them all as soon as that terrible night had happened. If she hadn't done what she did, if she had only done what she was told... then maybe her brothers wouldn't even be in this position right now.

Amara felt the edge of the compass press into her thigh, and she pulled it from her pocket, looking the device over bleakly.

They were going the wrong direction this whole time. How could she be so dense? If only she knew how to read, she could've been able to discern the road signs and they wouldn't have ended up so damn near to New York!

She didn't have the energy to shame herself any further than she already had, and all she could feel was a cold feeling of resigned failure seeping into her bones.

So all Amara could do was clench the compass in a contrite grip, and bury it into the dirt beside her.

But before she could do anything else, an abrupt pressure bounced off the side of her head, very different from the usual headache. She looked around, confused, before spotting a small pebble resting in the dirt beside her.

"What the-?"

"There you are. What the hell do you think you're doing?" Akin's voice trailed from behind the tree, and his lanky, bandaged form soon came into view, with Kelile close behind.

Amara glared at him, holding the pebble up in accusation. "Why'd you throw this at me?"

"Because you need some sense knocked into you. I should've thrown a bigger rock."

Her brothers stopped in front of her, their expressions discerning and stern. It was strange to see such a staunch expression on Kelile's youthful features.

"Sitting behind a tree, moping around? This ain't you, Sis," Akin said, lazily kicking up the dirt below his feet as his hands dug into his pockets.

"Look, I don't need this from ya'll right now, just let me be alone."

"Maybe not. But we need you."

She paused.

"If you weren't here, we wouldn't have made it this far, you know?" Kelile interjected, walking closer to her as he tried to catch her eye. "What happened wasn't your fault."

"But I let you go on your own. If I hadn't..."

"What else could you have done? It wasn't the first time I went on my own to go fishing, only this time... I put myself into that danger, and for good reason. But what matters is that we are all still alive, and that we need to survive as long as we can."

She looked at him, really looked at him, taking note of the determined glint in his eyes and how, as injured as he was, he stood taller than he had ever before. "Yeah. Definitely," was all she could say.

Kelile looked to the ground for a moment, his expression flickering with sudden worry before he looked at her again. "You... you aren't angry at me?"

The anxiety was obvious in his wide eyes, the trepidation set across his features even as he tried to hide it. She wanted to sigh. Of course, the only thing he would be concerned with, out of this whole dire situation, was her approval.

"No, not that angry. Not toward you, at least," her voice was softer than she intended as she turned around. "But you don't need to worry about that. C 'mon, lets get back to the camp."

"Wait, Amara. I've been thinking seriously, well, more seriously, and I was wondering that maybe... maybe we would have a better chance of surviving if we traveled with the tribe?"

She glanced back over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised. "Where is this comin' from?"

"Well, Karon... er, that one guy said that they've been planning on going farther North for awhile, but each time they've tried to escape, they've been stopped by the colonists. We could help them, we need to. The way these people been treating them... it just hits too close to home."

She paused, her brows knitting together as she tried to conjure up a mental image of the three of them traveling with the Mohawk tribe. It was difficult to imagine, to say the least.

"I don't know, Kel... I just don't know how this would work out."

Kelile squinted and made a face at her like she was six short of a dozen. "What makes you say that? I think this is the best bet for us!"

"Well, for one, we don't know if they'll even wanna travel with us. Sure they helped us, but we're still outsiders to them, I think. Maybe they don't even _want_ our help."

That was part of her concerns. It was true; after what the Natives had gone through with the colonists for so long, she didn't blame them for not being receptive to outsiders. That they were willing to patch up her wounds and let her brothers drift around the camp was surprising enough.

Amara wanted to help them. She didn't wish for the Natives to continue being provoked and purged out of their own lands, and she wanted to do as much as she could to prevent another scene like the one that brought them here in the first place. But she had reservations.

For all this time, Amara, Akin, and Kelile had been on their own, skirting by and avoiding slave hunters and local guard forces. They had managed, barely, but they had made it farther than Amara ever would have imagined. She dealt with being responsible for the group's safety. Protecting and providing for her brothers – it was something that she was taught to do from a young age. For if she wasn't there, who could they rely on? Even if she failed them, it was still difficult to imagine relinquishing her status as their protector to someone else. Not after Nana had died.

And traveling with the Mohawk meant that she wouldn't be the one to handle significant matters on her own anymore. They had their own leadership system that Amara and her brothers needed to respect. If they were to join with the tribe, as Kelile most wished for, she would no longer have the control to make the best decisions for her family's safety.

But what scared her most of all, what she was apprehensive to admit to herself, was being under someone else's command again. Just the thought of it alone gave her deep panic. After what they had escaped, and to have the edge of her newfound freedom buried so soon...

"You know those stories Uncle Juju told us, about how some of the Native tribes took in slaves for their own? How the white man sometimes forced them to? I'm just worried that, well – it may turn out to be just like it was when we were in the fields for _that man,_" she finally admitted, turning back to Kelile with her chin raised.

His jaw dropped as if he couldn't believe what she just said, and his shoulders drooped. She suddenly felt regretful, just a little, when he looked at her with apparent _hurt_ in his eyes. "How could you say something like that?!"

She didn't exactly understand what his problem was. "Look, I know you want to help these people. I do too; but I'm just saying to be cautious-"

"After all this tribe has done for us, how could you ever compare them to the man who whipped Juju until he was bleeding from his mouth?"

She winced. "Listen to me, Kelile-"

"No, you need to listen to me for once," he started, not even slowing down when Amara put a hand on her hip and gave him a baleful glare. "I don't know anything about those other tribes, if they owned slaves too... I don't know about any of that. What I do know is that these people wouldn't ever do something like that to us. They _helped_ us. And they deserve to be treated fairly, at the very least." Kelile's chest puffed out in his passion, and though he was running out of steam, he didn't tear his burning gaze away from Amara's. "I think you need to relax some. I know you worry about us, but sometimes you get too paranoid, jump to too many conclusions, like right now. It's not fair to the Natives here."

Honestly, she didn't know how to react. Her cheeks were burning in embarrassment from being told off by her own younger brother, but more than that felt shame etching itself firmly in her mind. "I didn't... I didn't mean it like that..."

But she did. She was being unfair to the people of the tribe, by daring to even link them in the same thought with her former owner. They didn't deserve that, they didn't deserve the brunt of her distrust in general authority.

She didn't speak, looming in shameful silence as her fists clenched and unclenched. Nearby, Akin finally lifted his eyes to glance at her, his arms crossed and his posture disinterested. He tutted at her. "Whatever. Amara's just pressed because she doesn't get to boss people around anymore."

She looked up at him, choosing not to become irritated at the slight, no matter how close to the truth it was. "So. You're on board with this whole thing?"

"... I'm still coming around to it," Akin admitted. He scratched his head, craning his neck as he looked over the small camp. "Just not used to being around this many people again since..."

"Since everybody else passed away," Amara finished for him. He nodded, looking at the ground as his arms wrapped tighter around his torso.

She knew the feeling. In their childhood, they had always been surrounded by older folk; not many were blood related to Amara and her brothers and Nana, but they all claimed each other as family nonetheless. After a long, hard day in the fields, coming back to the crowded shed was a blessing. They'd sing songs and bang on makeshift instruments, though not too loud so the owner wouldn't wake, and tell stories and laugh into the night. It was one of the only bright things she could look forward to in that life; the only way she could muster the will to make it through the next day.

But time goes on, and people pass on. They may get resold sometimes. And the family dwindles, until only Amara, Akin and Kelile are left.

If the tribe were to accept them, it would take some time for the three of them to adjust to the presence of so many people in such close quarters again.

But maybe Kelile was right. Maybe she did need to relax. Just a little.

"You know, this is actually a pretty good idea, Kelile," Amara finally resigned, nodding at the boy in approval. "But what did you have in mind exactly?"

"Well... they need manpower. And we could learn how to fight better to really help them," he continued, the fire burning in his eyes as he clenched his fists. "And we need their help even more, since they seem to know the way to what'd he say it was... 'Upper Canada?' It all works out in the end."

Amara thought of the camp, sparse and ridden with a heavy air of bleakness. She thought of the people, whose, now that she really thought of it, faces were worn and tired, their eyes dimmed. Karonhià:ke spoke with genuine warmness, but she could see that behind the thanks in his gaze, he had clearly expected worse to come of his peoples' situation.

The tribe had been waiting so long to seek further refuge, and their energy to escape was draining by the day. That much was obvious.

Just a few days earlier, she would never have imagined asking to travel with a Native tribe. Even less, she wouldn't have imagined that she would be free to even do so. There was no saying as to how the tribe would react to her request. But these were the circumstances they found themselves in, and if joining the Mohawk could up both groups' chances of survival, Amara was prepared to do whatever she could to make it happen.

There were so many people, though, and she could barely take care of Akin and Kelile, much to her regret. They had been traveling for so long on their own – was it even that long since they'd been freed by that Native man? – and joining with the tribe would definitely be a change in pace. It would be difficult, to say the least, but she was prepared.

"Well, it's worth asking how they feel about it. Come on, then."

When the trio returned to the tribe's small camp, Karonhià:ke and Ie:teron had just emerged from one of the makeshift tents, and Amara watched in confusion as the woman immediately veered in her direction, speaking loudly and with the corners of her lips down-turned. Amara turned to Karonhià:ke helplessly as the woman pinched her elbow sharply, and nodded in satisfaction when she grunted in pain.

"What'd on earth did I do now?"

"She's saying that considering your condition, the three of you should be resting and regaining your strength for your long journey. She says that you are..." he paused, looking over at Ie:teron in bemusement before continuing. "Ah, she thinks that you are not being _wise_, to put it gently, rushing off on your own like you just did."

Amara nodded, detaching her arm from Ie:teron's sharp grip, and exhaled slowly in preparation for what she had to say next. "I see. Can you tell her that I am thankful for her concern, but I'll be fine. And," she began, as Karonhià:ke translated to the woman in low tones. "About our journey... we were thinkin'... that me and my brothers could join your people instead, and together we could all find a way out of the colonies."

Karonhià:ke stopped in the middle of his translation, and he turned to the trio, appraising them sharply. Amara resisted the urge to fidget under his scrutiny, though the inside of her cheek was soon becoming raw from being bitten in nervousness. It wasn't such a terrible proposal, was it? "This... is not a simple matter. Our people are warriors, and though we are grateful for your earlier help, you would need to have great experience in the field of fighting and hunting."

Ah, so that was it. Granted, they didn't even have much experience in general survival, and counted themselves lucky to have made it this far. The few things Amara, Akin, and Kelile knew were how to do yardwork, clean houses, cook a little... They didn't know the first thing about hunting, which was clearly evidenced in Amara's lack of skill in catching fish.

But they could learn. They needed to.

"No, we never learned to be fighters," Amara smiled bitterly, pulling at her knuckles. "But some things can develop on their own... I know that in order to survive and to make out of this hellhole, we need to fight. There won't be no other option. I can't pretend that this whole situation ain't strange for me, trying to convince you all that we can learn how to fight and hunt, but a lot of strange things have been happening in these last couple days." By now a small crowd had gathered, or what little there could be of the tribe, and though it seemed they couldn't understand her English, they watched her closely. "Please. We will learn, and we will be the best we need to be to help not just us, but everybody here as well."

"You helped us when we were getting the tar kicked out of us down there, brought up back to your camp and bandaged us up." Kelile added quietly, looking everywhere but at the people gathered round. "It's only fair that we use this opportunity to return the favor."

Karonhià:ke did not immediately speak. His features were passive, even more unreadable than before. Amara felt like shaking him, as unbearable as the long silence was. Finally he spoke. "I am sorry, but our clan needs people who are defenders and hunters. It would of no use to take in outsiders who would not be able to contribute to the welfare of our clan. And it would be an even greater burden on our minds if the outsiders we housed were to be killed due to a lack of defense skills.

"And since we have lost so many of our warriors, there are mostly elders and children. If we do take in outsiders, we will need people who can defend and provide."

_Not just more people to take care of, _Amara finished in her mind.

They needed _help_, not an extra burden.

Amara looked around at the camp more closely than before, noting just how many children were running around, and how many elders watched her with weariness in their eyes. Farther away, she watched as a man emereged from one of the small tints, his upper body covered in bandages as he limped away.

She understood. God did she understand.

"You don't need us. I get that. You already have enough concerns without three inexperienced kids running around on top of everything. You've lost so many of your fighters, and it wouldn't make sense to accept just anyone who asks. You don't need us," she repeated, but she held the passive gaze of Karonhià:ke, unable to discern the emotions behind his eyes. "But we need you. We need to get to the place you call Upper Canada, and even though we've come this far on our own, I... I don't know how much longer we can hold out without even knowing where we're going, let alone how to survive. Please trust me when I say that we will prove to you that we can provide for your clan. We will learn how to fight and hunt, and I swear to you that we will defend your people with everything we've got until we _all _reach our goal, no matter the stakes."

Her pride had taken a sizable hit, at having to nearly beg. But her brothers always came first. There was no doubt about that. Amara knew that if the three of them were left to their own devices for much longer, she wouldn't be able to prevent the likely outcomes that would inevitably follow. Malnourishment, dehydration, starvation, and pneumonia were just a few of the natural dangers. She feared even worse for the dangers brought by man: slave hunters, hanging. Banding together with this Mohawk tribe was the best bet for her brothers' survival; they would learn how to survive and hunt for food, thereby increasing their chances of making it out of the nation. It was only fair that Amara and her brothers do the best they can to return the hospitality.

Karonhià:ke watched the three of them for several moments, taking in the way Amara tried to stand tall under his scrutinizing gaze, though her fingers twitched occasionally, betraying the underlying anxiety she tried so hard to hide. He looked over to Akin as the boy stood aways to the side, his expression blank and his posture straight, though Karonhià:ke knew that there was a storm raging behind the boy's wary eyes. And he finally turned to Kelile, who wore his emotions openly, nervousness and excitement in equal measure across his features. The boy tried to smile at Karonhià:ke, though the gesture came off more shaky than he had probably intended.

And as the trio waited for Karonhià:ke to speak, he took note of the exhaustion and weariness that seemed to envelop their combined auras. It was an all too familiar sight in this small camp.

Amara almost didn't see the gesture he made behind his back, making some sort of signal for something, or someone. And when Oiá:ner finally emerged, did she finally realize what was happening.

They traded long words, all the while their eyes on the trio. And Oiá:ner was silent for a time, staring directly at Amara while speaking to Karonhià:ke. Finally he translated.

"We will need time to consider. Meanwhile, take this opportunity to rest. That is all."

And so the morning came. And then after that the next morning. Amara had often had conversations with Ie:teron while she waited for the tribe's answer, with a translator of course, and though the woman gave no inclination to her personal thoughts on the matter, she was a welcome companion.

Kelile had adjusted to the presence of the Mohawk much more readily, smiling and enthusiastic as ever even though he couldn't understand a lick of what most of them were saying, and seemed to be welcome in their nightly gatherings around the bonfire. Akin hovered off to the side, and Amara scolded him for it, telling him that it would make the tribe wary of his presence when they needed to spend this time on their best behavior. He shrugged her off, and continued wandering the outskirts of camp on his own, though the Natives didn't give any indication of minding him.

The next day, when Amara was suddenly awoken on the edge of dawn, she instinctively shouted in surprise, and was quickly hushed by a deep voice.

"When the enemy is unaware, you never scream or give any clue to your presence."

A lesson. She watched as a large man knelt in front of her, his facial paint glistening in the swatches of light across the slowly brightening sky. "You make your move, quickly and bluntly," Amara saw shadows flit nearby, and soon heard the alarmed shouts of her brothers. ""I am Á:kwe'ks. That is the first lesson you will be practicing. Know that you are not yet accepted into the clan. There is one condition. You and your brothers will help us escape the boundaries of the city. You will be trained, and provided weapons before the escape. If you prove your use, you may travel with the clan. If not, then you are on your own, since it would be a waste of our few resources to take in people who could not help us. Do you accept?"

Amara inhaled tightly, peering into the dark, shrouded eyes of Á:kwe'ks. "I accept."

* * *

**_Boston_**

The crowd gathered round, various degrees of sadness and anger wrought across their expressions as the rain puddled around them. Among this crowd was a grieving family: three teenage children, and a mother struggling to hold herself together.

The people gathered here today were in mourning of the murder of a prominent slave owner, Eli Pittman, and were hungry for retribution.

And Archibald Turner was glad to be the one to give it to them - so long as he received a valuable cut of the bounty as well.

"Three of em', all related. A girl, aged twenty-three and was named 'Sarah.' The second oldest, at nine-teen and was named 'John.' And the youngest at sixteen, and named 'Sam.'

"Now I personally feel affected by this great and terrible crime, because not only was I the one who was to be responsible for selling them off, I also saw two of them whelps running away the night Eli was murdered. It was Sarah and John, if I remember correctly, but it don't matter since they are all gonna get what's coming to em'. But anyway: at the time, I didn't even realize that the old man was dead. If I did," Archibald took his hat off dramatically, bowing his head in great shame and exhaling heavily. "well, those _darkies _would've been hung a long time ago.

"But as it stands, they were... _freed _the day I was trying to sell em' off, by some heathen in a white hood, so we got a bounty on him, too. Anyone who finds these dirty killers will be rewarded handsomely, and we can finally mourn the loss of our brother-in-arms, in peace!"

The crowd roared, and some immediately took off to begin the hunt. But one of the children of the Pittman family, the oldest daughter, stepped forward and silence fell upon the clearing again as they watched her solemnly.

"When you find them," she began in a hoarse voice, her face tear-streaked and red, but her words were unshaken. "Bring them to our family before they hang. We will do some punishing of our own."


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: So I'm working without a beta this time around, and I tried my best to revise this chapter on my own. I don't really trust my own editing skills though, so it may be more horrible than usual. If so, don't hesitate to tell me if something is inaccurate or confusing. _

* * *

Three days had passed. It wasn't nearly enough time. But Amara, Akin, and Kelile did as much as they could.

After all, their survival was on the line.

Even though Amara knew she was treading on very thin ground, she still protested and argued with those who she thought were the tribe leaders, after it was decided that her brothers were to be the frontline defense when the tribe finally made their escape. It was dangerous, brutal work. Though, as nervous as she was, especially for Kelile's welfare, Amara wasn't actually protesting _their_ placement in the frontlines.

She was protesting the decision to place her _away_ from her brothers.

Amara was to be in a ranged position, utilizing the bow and arrow. It wasn't right. She needed to be there with her brothers, or vice versa. She needed to watch over them, be near them; ever since they escaped, that's how it was supposed to be. She trusted their abilities, as much as she could, but it just would have set her mind at ease if she could be on the frontlines with them. No matter how dangerous and risky it was, as long as they were together, everything would be alright.

But it wasn't her place to debate the decisions of the tribe leaders, and she knew that, though she stubbornly kept trying. They were already reluctant to accept her and her brothers into training, and arguing with them over their decision only served to aggravate them more. And so currently, as Amara stood stiffly in front of an unruffled Á:kwe'ks, the man who had first informed her of the tribe's choice to accept her and her brothers, he only gave her a cold, placating stare, and she soon felt the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. He towered over her, his wide build encapsulating her own smaller frame, and his expression was hard and calculating. Amara dug her fingernails into her palm to still her fidgeting, and tried to resist letting her defiance show in her returning stare. Though when it came to shielding her emotions, she didn't think she would ever be as good as the Natives of this tribe.

He never even addressed her; it was only when Ie:teron and Aonhawí:non, one of the women in the tribe who had volunteered to teach her, came and finally plucked her away. Amara swore she could still feel the steel of the warrior's gaze pierce into her retreating back as they headed into the makeshift training grounds near the outside of the camp.

And so now, doubled with her frustration with Á:kwe'ks, and her own anxiety of the quickly approaching escape, she was even more sloppy with the bow during training. Ie:teron watched silently, as Amara nocked the arrow and released, falling just short of the practice target 20 yards away. She tried again, and again, and each time the arrow continued to miss.

Amara exhaled, her shoulders tense in frustration as she allowed her mind to wander. She promised that she would do the best she could, to learn as much as she could... but she should be with her brothers! She should be learning how to fight in close quarters, and planning on how best to defend Akin and Kelile. What good could she be to them, to any of the tribe, if she were far away armed with only a lousy bow and arrow?

She stiffly pulled back the bowstring with her right hand and let the arrow fly, and again it missed the target.

Ie:teron quickly approached her, her long braids swishing behind her form, the irritation in her step evident as she took the bow from Amara's hands and edged her to the side. She held her hand out for an arrow, and Amara obliged, already knowing what this was.

"Watch her," Aonhawí:non translated, as Ie:teron did not know, or preferred not to speak, English.

The Mohawk woman's stance was fluid as she inhaled briefly, and had barely tightened her fingers on the bowstring when the arrow sliced through the air, and pierced the center of the practice target with a hard _thud_. She turned to Amara without missing a beat, handing her the bow and motioning for her to try again. But when Amara settled into her stance and nocked the arrow, Ie:teron shook her head curtly and began speaking rapidly in the Mohawk language, making sharp gestures and motioning to the bow often.

"She says that your form is too rigid, stiff, and your mind is obviously distracted. You cannot focus on anything else except your target when in the midst of battle, as any distraction will cost you your life." Aonhawí:non paused as she waited for Ie:teron to keep speaking, and continued to translate. "You were getting better in the last few days but now you are worse than when you first started. She says that she knows you are worried about being separated from your brothers, but you need to accept that it is a suitable position."

Amara narrowed her eyes as she lowered the bow. "Well, it ain't suitable. If I was just out there with them, I could have a better chance at protectin' them than with this damned bow." Immediately after she spoke, she felt like wincing at the hardness of her words, but her frustration had won out over all other emotions.

Aonhawí:non paused and raised one full eyebrow, before translating Amara's words for Ie:teron. She simply shook her head, and glared at Amara, before speaking in a low tone.

"She says that you are acting like a fool," Aonhawí:non said, sniffing. "And I agree."

Amara crossed her arms and huffed, turning to her with defiance flaring in her eyes. The woman only returned Amara's heated stare with coldness, and directed her to continue practicing with the bow. "Well, if bein' concerned for my brothers means acting like a fool, then so be it."

"You say that you are only concerned for them. I think you simply do not trust them."

"What?" Amara nearly dropped the bow in outrage, spinning around to face Aonhawí:non fully, but quickly felt a sharp rap against her elbow from the other Mohawk woman in reprimanding. Amara exhaled slowly, pinching her eyes closed, before shooting off another arrow that missed her target completely. "You don't know what you're talking about. Of course I trust my brothers, I couldn't have made it this far without trusting them!"

"I don't think so. If you really trust them, as you say you do, then you would let them be on the frontlines without you. You would know that they are now strong and capable enough to fight on their own, without your supervision."

"I..." Amara paused as she nocked the next arrow, her eyes lowering to the ground as the weight of Aonhawí:non's words began to sink in. She knew that they were capable, she knew that were strong, but if she wasn't there...

Kelile's words from the other day rang clear in her mind, pleading with her to let him handle himself more often. She sighed. She recalled when they had first reached the limits of Boston; even though she was there to defend him when the Patriot guard had nearly killed him, it still wasn't enough since Akin had been the one to save them both. And when she and Akin had first rushed down to save him when he was being beaten by the colonists, there still wasn't much that she could do to help. The bruises at her throat had subsided somewhat, but were still prevalent enough to remind her of how that situation had turned out.

Kelile couldn't handle himself, yet he stubbornly insisted on trying to prove otherwise. It would hurt him deeply if he ever knew how she truly felt, but she couldn't help it.

"If Kelile gets into danger again, I... may not be able to save him. So it's better if I'm there in the first place, so I can prevent anything from happening ever again."

Aonhawí:non gave her a considering look before she finally spoke, while Ie:teron stared blankly at the bow dangling from Amara's hands.

"On another thought, it is clear that you do not trust our clan either. Odd, since you pleaded to let you and your brothers travel with us." She held a hand up before Amara could speak, and continued in a measured tone. "For if you did trust us, you would put your faith into the training you and your brothers are going through. You would trust that your brothers would not be set into battle, weak and confused and without guidance. You would trust that even though they will be part of the frontal defense, their inexperience would be accounted for. That we would have our own people watching over them, sacrificing their own safety, for the protection of your brothers.

"You do not trust the decisions Ie:teron and I have made regarding your positions on the field. It is regretful, since we have placed great faith in your brothers, even though we know they were not raised to be warriors."

"You two made this decision?" Amara asked in bewilderment.

"Yes, along with all of the other women in the tribe." Aonhawí:non scoffed at Amara's confused expression, murmuring to Ie:teron for a moment before continuing. She rolled her eyes at Amara. "You think that the men solely make all the strategical choices for an upcoming battle? No. We have just as much power—it is our women of the clan pull the strings. It is us who decides when to let our children go into war, to let our children die.

"That is why we decided to give you ranged weapons training. With a bow, you have the power to see the entire field, to direct it, even more so than the ground warriors. We did not separate you from your brothers because we doubted your own abilities. We believed them to be of an even greater use. Can't you see, *Yeksa'a? Being able to observe the entire field allows you to protect your brothers even more than you could do in close range."

It was at that moment did Amara finally realize the level of disrespect she was giving to the clan, to Ie:teron and Aonhawí:non themselves, and to her own brothers as well. At this moment, she felt very stupid and very ashamed.

She glanced at the wooden bow in her hands, and strung it up again, forcing her body to relax as she pulled back on the bowstring as she watched Ie:teron do just moments before. She inhaled softly, standing as straight as she could, and released the arrow.

She watched it cut through the air, keenly aware of the sweat pooling upon her skin as the arrow flew impossibly slow. The thud of its head finally impacting the target rang clearly in her ears, hitting just a few paces beneath the target, and she turned to the two women, smiling proudly. Ie:teron didn't smile nearly as big, but she nodded at Amara with a rare brightness in her eyes.

"I'm sorry for doubting you, for doubting your ability to help me and my brothers. It was wrong of me. I just... I'm out of my element here," she said, embarrassed at having to admit to her own weakness. "Ain't used to _not _being the only person looking after my brothers. I'll go apologize to Á:kwe'ks as well."

"Oh, there is no need for that. He does not hold anything against you, and understands your predicament," Aonhawí:non smiled.

"How do you know?"

"Yeksa'a, you spend enough time with our men and their tells become almost too obvious."

"I see." Amara nocked another arrow, and was annoyed to see it miss the target even further than last time. "I'm grateful for your training, but I hope I can improve enough by the time of the escape. Not only do I need to survive the battle," she shook off the nervous jitters. "But I need to prove myself to all of y'all as well."

Aonhawí:non bowed her head for a moment, her expression unreadable as she considered her next words. "The rest of the clan was not forthcoming, as it should be, but it is not as if they wish to see your family wandering alone in the wilderness. There are too many dangers out there, not including slavehunters and their ilk," she said, catching Amara's eyes. "But we have lost too many of our warriors already, and losing you would be another burden on the minds of our people. Maybe at another time, when we were greater in number and had more resources, things would have gone differently... But now, we need people who are capable and can defend the clan, and I hope you can understand why just accepting any outsider who asks is unwise.

"But I have faith that you and your brothers will prove yourselves during the escape. You should have a little faith in yourself, as well."

* * *

Amara massaged her callouses, long used to the roughness encasing the tender skin. She was accustomed to the effects of grueling outside work, due to slaving for the owner at the estate. Whether it was rain, sleet, or shine, she was always out there; taking care of the livestock, chopping wood, plowing the gardens. Her brothers were out farther in the estate yard, managing the corn fields and carrying river water back. When they had finally settled in for the day, the callouses on their hands were always pronounced and swollen, the least of their bruises.

Nana never had to deal with the outside stuff. They made her stay inside, taking care of the children and serving food for the family. Sometimes Nana would come back to the shed wearing that warm, honeyed smile, but there was always a lingering tell of sorrowful yearning in her eyes that had alarmed Amara. She would always refuse to tell her what was wrong however, batting away her questions and concerns with an air of lifted optimism. Eventually, Amara had figured out that the cause behind Nana's sadness was due to the owner's children themselves, in a roundabout way.

Nana was forced to leave her own family every morning to take care of another, to harbor affection for the children of her enemy. She served them dinner, and stood by while they complimented her cooking and laughed amidst the warm air of family joining.

It was something she would never be permitted to enjoy in the same way, with her own kin.

That was the fate of every slave matron. And had Amara never been freed, if she had never escaped the events of that certain catastrophic day, she would have been forced to endure the same tribulation.

Unless she was to be captured. Then she would simply be hung for her actions.

But that would never happen. Not as long as she still had will and determination to escape with her brothers for good.

And how far they have all come. She absently pressed her thumb against her rough callouses, and paused in her trek back to the center of camp. They had trained from dawn to dusk, and even more so if allowed, and already Amara noticed that her arm was shaking less and less from muscle strain, than when she had first used the bow. Akin had naturally high stamina, but his endurance levels have only managed to increase even more, while Kelile, the stoutest of the trio, has been gaining strength in equal measure.

It would take an insurmountable amount of time to reach their peak, but Amara was steadily getting less nervous as the day to finally escape approached.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, she did not miss the slight, but distinctive movement behind her, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes as a more energetic than usual Akin lept in front of her and howled in mock fury. He kept shrieking, waving his arms maniacally, until he noticed the less than amused expression on Amara's face, and soon his howls died down into frustrated grunts, dangling the stone axe he carried listlessly.

"How can you always tell it's me?"

"Brother," she sniffed. "Your stealth skills need some work; you're about as loud as boar in heat."

Akin grumbled, side-eying her as he spoke. "They said I was doing great."

"Maybe they felt sorry for you."

He lifted his axe in a mock-threatening gesture, as if he were about to swing at her in the next moment, but immediately settled down when Amara raised one, daring, eyebrow. Kelile soon emerged from the brush, wielding a wooden shield and a tired smile on his features. He paused upon seeing a grumbling Akin and an unimpressed Amara with her arms across her chest, and opened his mouth as if he was going to inquire about the scene, but shook his head as in relent.

"I don't even wanna know," he muttered. "Hey, Amara, guess what they taught us today!" Without waiting for her to respond, he rushed on in excitement. "I learned how to shield bash, and then to knock my opponent off their feet with my club! Watch!"

Though she didn't necessarily comply to the impromptu practice session, she watched as Kelile lunged toward Akin with the wooden shield, the sheer force of the impact sending the taller boy skidding back. Kelile didn't slow down a bit, relying on his momentum as he brought the club up and made to swing it at a defensive Akin.

"Hey! That's enough for now!" Amara yelled, alarmed. But her worries were soon quelled when Akin ducked beneath Kelile's attack, sweeping the smaller boy off of his feet with an agile kick.

"You don't manage your body weight good enough; makes you too easy to get you off your feet," said Akin, looking over Kelile as the boy tried to stand up quickly, though his disorientation was obvious. Akin inclined his head lazily. "Still gotta lot to learn, Brah."

"Yeah, I guess," said Kelile, trying to hide his embarrassment as Akin ruffled his hair. "I just can't wait till we can get this whole escape started. I'll finally be able to use everything I learned for real!"

Amara peered at Kelile from the side of her eyes, watching as the boy nearly bounced on the heels of his feet in excitement, rambling to Akin about how much good they would be able to accomplish. Her lips down-turned as she exhaled wearily, absently gripping the bow handle tighter.

"I know you're excited, and you're both obviously getting better. But just remember why we're doing this. And how many people may die. Maybe even by our own hands," she said quietly. Kelile paused in his enthusiastic rambling, looking up at Amara with wide eyes, while Akin sighed and directed his attention to the ground.

She looked at each of them in turn, at Kelile who, even though he carried the tells of exhaustion, still wore his eagerness plainly. He did not respond to her, his expression a muddle of confusion and impatience. She turned to Akin, and thought the taller boy wore a convincing mask of indifference, it was still apparent to her how weary he was, especially after her words. Amara exhaled, regretful for ruining the cheery mood, but she knew how important it was for them to _get it._

The brief silence that abruptly before the group was interrupted by sounds of singing and music coming from the center of the camp. Kelile whipped around, curious as he spotted many of the tribe gathered round a small campfire. He set off immediately, casting one last, somber glance at Amara.

She jumped when she heard Akin's voice directly behind her, in a tone that attempted nonchalance. "He's gonna learn soon. We had to," was all he said, before heading in the opposite direction of the camp, disappearing in the brush of trees.

Maybe he was right. And maybe Kelile would learn sooner than Amara wished. But she still desperately, naively, hoped that he wouldn't have to.

Taking a life was a haunting burden wrought upon the soul, and she knew that Kelile's innocence would have trouble enduring the consequences.

She found herself walking in the direction of the campfire, trying to bury her fears and worries deep into the recesses of her mind, like so many other things, and was thankful for the distraction of the heavy drums and the deep baritone of the Natives' voices. Their song was transfixing, the unified melody flowing into the wind of the nighttime air, and Amara felt the beating of the drums seep into her bones as she sat near the fire.

She didn't know how he had made it, but Kelile was waving around a makeshift tambourine as he watched the Natives around him sing and dance in halting unison. His eyes were wide, darting everywhere and absorbing everything; the haunting tone of the song, the deep tremor of the drums, the rhythmic and instinctive dancing. It had been awhile since he had been in the midst of something like this before, and Amara could tell that his wonder was at an all time high. It was almost like all that time ago, back when they were in the slave quarters at the estate, when everyone was still together, dancing and singing into the darkness of the night air. It almost made her lightheaded at the familiarity of it all.

A man with graying dark hair, wearing only his breeches and moccasins neared her as he beat upon the drum hoisted at his hips. She watched his hands melodically thump across the crafted surface of the instrument, the sound reverberating as it pooled into her ears. She looked up to see him watching her, the expression in his eyes unclear.

"Is this wise?" she asked. "Won't the colonists hear?"

She hoped he would know English. Since the tribe had maintained trade with the colonists since even before the War, many had learned English to communicate.

He didn't respond immediately, only continuing to give her that same indiscernible look. Finally, he lifted an arm to point at the trees, and when she turned to look, she was alarmed to see shapes, the same shapes as when she had first arrived, flitting about the heightened branches.

The shapes were people. Scouts, she guessed.

"Will they be enough?" she asked, but he had already turned away from her and resumed banging on the drum.

"We will not be silenced." she thought she heard him say, but his voice was carried away with the wind and the tantalizing beat of the drums.

Amara curled into herself as a breeze swept over her, looking at the ground as they danced and sang around the fire. A small pair of feet came into her vision, and she looked up to see a young girl standing directly in front of her. Her eyes were wide with wonder and curiosity as she gazed as Amara, inclining her head slightly as her silky mane of hair spilled over her shoulders. The way the girl looked at her, with those large eyes filled with inquisitiveness reminded her a bit of Kelile, and she smiled at the girl.

"Hi... my name is Amara. What's yours?"

The girl did not reply, and Amara raised a surprised eyebrow when her small fingers reached out to touch the coiled mass of her hair.

"I... yes, this is my hair. I didn't feel like pulling it all back in a cap this morning, so it has more knots than usual-"

"My name is Keshini, but I think I should give my name to you instead."

"Why's that? What's it mean?"

Keshini's eyebrows scrunched up in concentration, and she finally looked up at Amara with an air of resignation. "I think in your English it would mean... 'one with beautiful hair.' See? It fits you."

Amara smiled. "Thank you. But your hair is also very beautiful, so you should keep your name."

"Okay. Can I sit with you? Mother said I could come over here if you wanted me to."

She looked up to see a woman who was engaged in a group dance, her movements effortless and fluid, and she caught her eye. Amara waved, and was relieved to see the woman wave back before turning back to the dance. Though the woman gave no sign of caution, she knew that she was still an outsider to the tribe, and tried to act appropriately.

"Sure, but you should get back to your mama soon, alright?"

Keshini nodded shortly, and settled down next to Amara as the enfolding sounds of the drums and hallowed voices flowed on through the night.

* * *

The next morning, Amara readied her bow, adjusting the quiver of arrows on her back. Kelile practiced the attack patterns he had learned, and gripped his shield tightly, while Akin leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, forcing relaxtion into his posture.

The day had finally come.

* * *

_ *Yeksa'a - girl_

_So sorry for the lack of Connor in these last few chapters, since I know just reading about an OC can be boring as all hell, but it's deliberate and I promise it'll all work out very soon._


	8. Chapter 8

_**AN:** I'm releasing this early because I wrote it ages ago, and I've finally gotten around to getting it beta-ed so I'm hella excited for everyone to read it. This chapter just gave me so much life, more so in Amara's case; like while I was writing I seriously had one of those "YAAAAAASSS GIRL GET. IT." moments and it was just... so gratifying. They all made me so proud in this chapter, and I just feel like a proud mama and its embarrassing so I'll just stop rambling about my OCs now and let yall read for yourselves. _

_Thanks goes to my beta TX-Bluebonnet, and I'm really happy to have her back. Enjoy._

* * *

Kelile had never liked rainy weather. Though he was aware that it wasn't exactly the most appropriate attitude to have, as he had the misfortune to be raised in fickle-weathered Boston of all places.

The rain somehow held the power to dampen his energy, increase his apprehension, and stir his restlessness. It was an altogether strange effect.

_Plink. Plink. Plink._

He exhaled shakily as the rain thumped upon his shield, its weight seemingly magnified by the bleariness of the weather. As the wet droplets slid across his skin, they also threatened to wash away his already fragile will and determination that he had tried so hard to build up in these last couple days.

Earlier that morning, the sun was shining with the promise to stay with Kelile all throughout the day, supporting him with just as much vigor as Amara did, along with his teachers who were walking just a few paces in front of him right now.

Kelile's brows scrunched together as he looked up at the retreating ball of flame hanging in the sky.

The sun had lied to him. It hid like a coward, behind bleak and graying clouds that welcomed the pouring of that blasted rain. And just like that, Kelile felt his courage begin to dim already.

The wooden shield hung precariously in his grasp, its weight bearing down upon him as the thunder raged from high above. Though he'd been steadily gaining endurance in these past few days, lifting the shield was still no easy task, and he doubted that it would be anytime soon.

He glanced over to the heavy smattering of trees, ever silent and still as the tribe itself passed beneath their sweeping protection. Though mostly the women, children, and disabled of the tribe were traveling a fair distance away from his own group, he knew that high above in the looping tree branches, waited the most agile archers keeping watch over all matters of action. What he didn't know was if Amara was there with them.

Though he didn't let himself worry over it; he knew that no matter where she was, she would be able to handle herself. Hopefully.

Kelile swallowed harshly as he turned his attention back to the front of the gathering. Farther up ahead, Akin stomped away seemingly without a concern, though his back was stiff and his posture rigid, and Kelile knew that his older brother was just as nervous as he was. Despite all the rigorous training and lessons they had absorbed over the past few days, and how excited he had been at improving, the thought of actually facing battle again was not what he desired.

He remembered how that last fight had went, when he had rushed in to help the Mohawk when the colonists attacked. He remembered how he had woken up, aching and bruised and miserable as he fought with his body to simply stand upright. It was too soon for that to happen again. But if it did, he hoped that he would be able to apply all that he had learned, instead of just standing around helplessly. That's not what Amara or Akin would do.

The first sign of trouble showed itself in the form of gruff laughter and heavy stomping as a platoon of Patriot guards came across the roads nearby. Kelile sucked in a breath and backed up involuntarily. Behind him, Á:kwe'ks nudged his shoulder with the blunt tip of his spear, the older man's expression unreadable as the Patriots moved forward.

Due to their position amidst the cover of the trees, their group had the advantage of not being seen. The plan was to avoid any possible conflict as the tribe's number of fighters was steadily decreasing. But if a fight could not be avoided, they were well prepared to deal with it.

One of the guards on the road paused abruptly, peering into the direction of the trees, and soon crept forward.

Fighting couldn't be avoided. This was something Kelile had a keen feeling he was going to learn very well in their coming travels. Amara had always said as much, but he had never really grasped it until he was being beaten to within an inch of his life just a few days earlier.

"Hey... I think I see something!" exclaimed the guard.

_Fighting can't be avoided. Fighting cannot be avoided._

As he readied his shield, as heavy as it was, and gripped the club tighter in his other hand, he repeated the mantra over and over again. He watched all the other fighters do the same, only they seemed a lot less anxious than he was. Even Akin hid his nervousness well. Either that, or he simply didn't feel any.

The guard poked through the shrubbery, and Kelile swallowed the hard lump in his throat. Suddenly his grip on the shield handle began to slip, and he realized that his palms were sweating profusely.

_Please don't see us, please don't see us._

The guard jumped back several feet in shock when his eyes finally fell upon the group of Mohawk warriors, and he immediately called for the attention of the rest of his platoon.

Up ahead, Karonhià:ke engaged the guard verbally, and Kelile caught bits and pieces of the conversation as the rest of the Patriot guard pooled in, readying their weapons.

"-So where are you jolly bunch heading to, eh?"

"-do not wish for conflict, we only want to-"

The guard laughed in Karonhià:ke's face, and took several abrasive steps forward, until he was smirking up at the Mohawk man. Karonhià:ke did not react, his expression impassive as the guard continued to taunt him, and Kelile couldn't hear the rest of what they were saying as the other Patriots began laughing and jeering as well. The guard even went so far as to touch him, poking him this way and that as his taunts became even more aggresive in nature. Kelile balked, and steeled himself so that he wouldn't back away.

Soon, however, the guard noticed Akin, and at that moment, Kelile knew that this was it.

"Well look what we got here... taking in a darkie huh? I thought you people were better than that," Kelile heard the guard say, and his hackles rose. He almost took a step forward, but paused when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned back to see Á:kwe'ks firmly move him out of the Patriots' sight, before moving forward, his eyes focused on the guard all the while.

"So,_ boy_, what's your name?"

Akin didn't respond, as far as Kelile could hear. He would've laughed if he weren't so panicked; he could clearly imagine Akin standing there, angry and stubborn, with an expression of strong disgust set in his features.

"You know, the reason I ask is because, well... there are reports of some slaves escaping from Boston. No one knows where they've headed yet, but it would be mighty foolish of 'em to think that joining a _heathen_ tribe would give them protection. Don't you agree?

"So, this is the last time I'll ask, boy. What. Is. Your name."

Though his view was somewhat obscured, Kelile was relieved to see what appeared to be Karonhià:ke's arm firmly push the guard away from Akin. But he knew that the action would not be received well at all, and soon the guard's taunting smile fell from his features, and he began ranting and stepping dangerously close to Karonhià:ke.

Kelile's grip on his club tightened, but before he could process what exactly had happened, Karonhià:ke was suddenly shoved back against a tree trunk.

And then that was it.

Akin swung first at the distracted guard, and Kelile wanted to call out to him in warning as several more guards approached from behind. But his screams died in his throat as Á:kwe'ks lurched forward, taking down the guards with him.

Kelile's breathing was erratic, and he couldn't stop shaking as the fighting erupted from all around him. He almost gasped as he caught Akin just barely dodging the blade of a guard's musket, and striking with his own retaliatory attack. Seeing his brother move so fluidly, a whirl of anger and impassioned screams, was enough to shake Kelile of his momentary shock.

This was the time to act, to _fight!_

And so he forced the training practices to seep into his mind, willing his body to move as he gripped the shield tighter and crouched low as a guard aimed the barrel of his musket at a distracted Karonhià:ke. Kelile's legs carried him forward, and he gritted his teeth against the impact as the shield bounded into the guard. He paused when the guard was writhing on the ground in pain from the shield bash, and soon Karonhià:ke stepped into his line of sight. The Mohawk man's expression was grateful, and he lowered his gaze at the incapitated guard. He made a hand signal, one that Kelile recognized from training that meant 'finish it.'

But Kelile wouldn't, couldn't, move, even as Karonhià:ke rushed away to engage his next opponent. He looked down at the guard on the ground, knowing that if he was capable and on his feet, Kelile would have a bullet through his heart at that very moment. Kelile knew this. But still he just couldn't move.

They taught him to end the threat permanently, to kill. But he had never grasped just how difficult it would be to actually follow through.

His hands clenched into fists, and he bit his lip in frustration as the guard looked up at him with pleading blue eyes. He was begging Kelile for mercy. _How dare he?_ After everything he and his people put him, Amara, Akin, Karonhià:ke, _everyone_ through?

But Kelile knew. He knew that he would actually be the one to oblige the guard's request, and grant him the mercy he so out of the kindess of his heart, no, but out of his hesitation to take away another life.

But it appeared, that today, for this moment, Kelile would not be the one to end a life. That decision was wrenched out of his hands as Akin plunged the blunt edge of his axe into the guard's chest.

His complete and utter shock must have shown clearly on his face, since Akin looked at him with what looked to be pity as he tugged the axe out of the man's crumpled body.

"It needed to be done. I already know that. But you... you will have to figure it out for yourself one day. Soon." Kelile could barely hear him as his brother turned away, readying himself for the next fight. "You should go watch over the tribe," Akin said, and ran forward, barreling into the nearest guard.

Kelile couldn't pinpoint exactly what he was feeling at that moment. What it mostly shame at being told to stay out of the fighting? Embarrassment? Anger at his brother for killing that man, even though that's what they were both taught to do? Or sadness after watching the man take his last shocked, straining breath as the axe was ripped from his chest? Did he even want to identify that other, shrouded emotion that was just barely burning beneath the surface. An emotion that caused him to suddenly look at his brother in a new light, with an edge of nervousness and trepidation.

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind as he walked in the direction of where the rest of the tribe was hidden. He felt liquid dripping down his face, and wiped it away, thinking it to be sweat. His breaths came shorter when he realized that it was blood. The blood of the guard Akin had killed.

Kelile felt bile rising in the back of his throat, and winced when he forcibly swallowed it back, trying to put on a brave face for the woman and children that hid away from the fighting.

"Oy! We got another one! Where do you think you're goin?"

Kelile froze. Just as he raised his shield, he was knocked on his back onto the damp ground, and he coughed as the air was punched out of him. The club slid from his hands, and he tried to scramble forward despite how much his ribs ached. A guttural grunt of pain escaped from his lips, as a heavy boot stomped onto his back, halting his movements. He stole a glance above, his teeth clenched, at the Patriot guard wagging a finger at him and smirking haughtily.

"No, no, no," the guard tsked. "I don't think you'll be needing that right now."

"Go... go to hell," he choked out, as the guard increased the pressure on his back.

The guard grinned.

And then, abruptly, he wasn't there anymore, as an arrow punctured his leg with sheer force.

"Get away from my brother, you sorry sack of _shit!" _boomed a desperate, enraged voice.

The guard cried out in pain, and doubled over as Kelile scrambled away, grabbing his club at last. He whirled in the direction the voice came from, rage-filled and impassioned, looking up and shielding his eyes from the raindrops as the ground level rose higher.

He saw her, and partly felt like grinning in relief. The other part felt like running away in fear.

Amara stood high up, her bow readied as she looked down upon him, her eyes wild and angry as her lips twisted in a scowl. She released another arrow, and Kelile jumped as it embedded itself into the guard's shoulder, just as he was starting to stand up.

"Go, Kelile. Help the tribe. Now," she urged him in a tone of voice he didn't quite recognize, but he hurried away nonetheless.

Just as he reached the trench where the tribe was ambling along, women comforting children who were impossibly frightened by the sounds of fighting, Kelile heard another voice that stopped him in his tracks.

"Get that bitch, goddamit! Get off your arses and rip her apart for what she did to me!" shrieked the crippled guard, his face impossibly red and twisted in his fury.

"No! Amara!" Kelile whipped around, immediately taking off in her direction when another Patriot guard lept in his way, his expression tight and controlled. The guard's sodden gaze fell upon the women and children huddled against each other, and he turned back to Kelile with a sharp grin.

"So, there are even more of yous down here. After I kill you, I'm gonna tell me Brothers all about them," he gestured to the tribe's women and children. "That way, we can finally be rid of these savages for good," the guard said, and lunged at Kelile.

He kept him at bay, forcing him away with his shield, and risked a glance to where he last saw Amara. He watched as she fired off another arrow, but it missed her target, and soon she was tearing away deeper into the forest as two more guards trailed right at her heels.

Dammit. His frustration and worry were almost suffocating him, but he couldn't allow himself distraction as the guard rushed him again. As scared as he was, mostly for the safety of Amara and the group of women and children behind him, counting on him for protection, he needed to trust his abilities in this moment. He needed to trust that Amara would know how to handle herself. Otherwise, he would fail.

And that just wouldn't do.

"No. This is gonna end now. For my sister and my brother, and for this tribe!" Kelile grit his teeth, stole one last, desperate glance at the sun hidden deep in the bleak sky, and swung the club with all his might.

* * *

Branches whipped at her face, cutting deep into her skin and snagging at her clothes as she ran. Raindrops pelted at her from the open spaces in the trees above as she pushed branches and bushes out of her path. Her escalated breathing was the only thing she could hear, and she swallowed harshly to moisturize her dry throat.

Amara whirled around, aiming for the briefest of seconds before she released an arrow at one of her pursuers. It fell just short of his legs.

_Dammit! _

She grunted in frustration as another branch tore into her skin. They were getting too close. She willed her legs to move faster, pushing her body to quit getting tired, just for this one moment. There was a light filtering through the shrubbery up ahead, peeking through the smattering of greenery that surrounded her.

Just as she pushed through the last branch, her momentum carrying her forward, she felt the air collaspe inside her throat as she was tackled from behind.

Amara tried to punch and kick her attacker, but he easily subdued her attacks, settling himself on top of her and his partner soon came into view, panting from the exertion.

Her flailing hands were quickly caught and bound together, and she snarled as the man reached for his musket.

"This is for what you did to my friend, bitch," he said as the barrel of the gun pressed against her forehead.

She grit her teeth, her eyes boring fiercely into the guard's own. "I should've finished him off while he was down," she remarked in a steeled voice, glaring at the guard with as much hate as she could muster.

He snorted, his fingers wrapping around the trigger. "Looks like you'll never get your chance now."

She was _pissed_. Ever since she saw that guard tackle Kelile, her anger had quickly overwhelmed her fear and nervousness. And in all actuality, her rage and her frustration and disappointment was directed at herself. For letting Kelile out of her sight enough for him to be attacked like that, for allowing her own self to be caught in this position now.

But more than that, she was angry at the increasing possibility of not being there for her brothers when they needed her most. If she was to be killed now, everything would have been for nothing. Akin and Kelile would have no one.

And there was no way she was going to let that happen without a fight.

"Before I die, I want you to ask you something."

"Hmm? Better hurry before I _accidentally_ press the trigger."

"Do you think yourself strong and powerful after winning your War?" she asked, her fingers rising to gingerly touch the tip of the musket. "You must be very proud of your people."

"Get to the point, coon, my patience is running thin."

"I'll get to the point when I'm damn well ready," she risked, stalling for more time, for an opportunity, any opportunity to present itself. "But I do want you to know... that this country you fought for, the 'freedoms' you fought for, the men you fought for- they aren't worth _shit_. After all the lives you stole, the people - _my people - _you sold and all the Natives you robbed, this hellhole has no right to be called a nation. Not after all the lies and murder it built itself upon.

"You and the rest of your people can burn in hell," she finished, spitting in his face.

The guard snarled, and set the musket aside, loosening his grip on her bound hands for the briefest of seconds. It was all the time she needed.

He slapped her, and the contact of skin was enough for her to latch onto his hand with her teeth. It was quickly becoming her favourite method of attack. He reared back, giving her enough space to wriggle herself free somewhat, and knee him in the groin.

She scrambled away, eyeing her discarded bow as she tried to rush forward, when she caught from behind with a hard snatch of her hair. Her momentum sent her crashing onto her back, as the second guard wrapped his fingers around her neck and reached for his own musket.

But what happened next would never escape her memory.

A blur of white with swatches of blue and red, a man came barreling from the trees overhead, his knees colliding into the guard with sheer power and force. The guard's body trembled for a moment before going limp.

The other guard had reclaimed his strength and was lunging at the white hooded man, but was stopped in his tracks when the man elbowed him in the gut, before knocking him out cold with a sweeping kick.

It was over. Just like that. Amara released a breath she didn't release she was holding, and peered up at the hooded man.

He paused, and looked over the clearing several times, as if discerning if there was further threat to come. His head inclined toward her, and he finally looked upon her fully, his face shrouded in shadow.

As quickly as he had emerged, a thick silence fell upon the clearing as Amara stared at the hooded man, at a complete loss for words. She didn't realize that she was still on the ground, the mud collecting around her hands and knees, until the man approached her, slightly limping all the while for some reason unbeknownst to her, and offered her his hand.

But when she was finally able to look closer, to peer into the depths of his beaked hood and stare into those tired brown eyes, she was paralyzed with shock.

_"It's... you."_

* * *

oh so that happened :s


	9. Chapter 9

_Not really happy with this chapter, but I did the best I could with it. :/ _

_Thanks goes to my betas G-ChanSanKun and TX-Bluebonnet. Oh, and I want to thank you all as well. For the favourites and follows and the reviews - they really do mean a lot, and I look over them whenever I'm having a hard time with a chapter. Y'all encourage me to not half-ass everything in this fic (Lord knows sometimes I really want to), and to make it the best it can be for you to read, and for that I'm grateful._

* * *

Her dark and burning eyes mirrored his own confusion. She stared up at him, a flurry of emotions dancing across her features, each sentiment too brief to be discernible, though she never rose from her kneeling position upon the damp ground. She didn't speak, though her mouth moved as if she wanted to, but simply wasn't able to find the words. He could relate.

He edged closer to her, offering his hand for support, raindrops softly pelting his skin. His approach seemed to shake her out of her momentary shock and confusion, and she wrapped her fingers, beaded with sweat, around his wrist, as he easily pulled her up despite her limp weight.

The girl did not immediately let go, even though her fingers twitched beneath his, her skin surprisingly rough and calloused. Though the dark texture of her skin somehow retained a degree of softness compared to his own, something he was keenly aware of as her hand was limply clasped in his own terse grip. He cleared his throat, and she snatched her hand away, but her wide eyes never drifted from his own weary gaze.

Ratohnhaké:ton swallowed, unsure of what to say to ease the charged silence, but knowing that he needed to set off immediately, if the roaring sounds of battle up ahead were any indication. "I am glad you are well after all this time, but I need to go now. I hope to see you again soon," he said shortly, and turned away before she could respond, heading into the shroud of trees again. But before he raced off, agilely leaping into the midst of the woven branches, he caught sight of the girl, staring after him with a most curious expression on her face.

He put all thoughts of the encounter, their second encounter, out of his mind and focused on the sounds of fighting up ahead. As he leapt upon the immediate branch leading into the large clearing, his gaze settled on the small group of women, children, disabled – and a small boy wielding a club and wooden shield- that were currently being harassed by several Patriot guards.

With a finesse fit only of the highest ranking in the Boston Assassin Sector, Ratohnhaké:ton dove from the tree branches and his knees crashed into the backs of two guards. He quickly incapacitated the others, and giving a quick nod to the clan's women and children, he set off to further turn the tide of battle into Kanien'kehá:ka favor.

* * *

It had been such a long time.

It had been so long since he had seen his people again, and though he had been overcome with the goal of meeting them again, he had never once considered what he was to say once they were reunited. And what could he possibly say, to ease the burden of anger and bitterness and betrayal they must have felt toward him?

He shook his head tersely. Ratohnhaké:ton had expected to find angry faces looking down at him with accusation laced in their eyes. He had expected to be cursed at, spat at, hounded for his part in the War, supporting the very men who had sold the village land in the Frontier. He almost desired their ire, for it was the only way for his shame to be vilified.

But what he did not expect, however, was their peaceful – perhaps relieved? - reaction towards him, their tired eyes suddenly alight with camaraderie and concern for his return. He did not expect the gnawing, dreadful feeling of anticipation warring in his gut, still anxiously waiting for their ashamed anger and charges of betrayal. But still, nothing came.

It had been so long. And they acted as though they had only been separated for a day.

Some time had passed since the clan's escape. As soon as the last guard crumpled to his knees, the clan immediately departed to find safer refuge, carrying their slain and injured kin with them. For now, they rested in the alcove of a cliff, sheltered by the thickest of trees and bushes. It was enough, but soon they would need to find higher ground to escape the risk of flood.

Ratohnhaké:ton gingerly walked across the length of the area, watching as tents were set up for shelter while many tended to the wounded. He came to a stop in front of an impromptu burial ground, the clan warriors burying those who had lost their lives in the escape. It was not a proper site to entomb the slain, as far away from their former village as it was, but it was the best the tribe could do for them at a time like this.

Before the sodden dirt rained over the limp bodies, the clan warriors made sure to place items in the grave, like beads, small weapons, or pottery. It was all that they could give.

Ratohnhaké:ton felt the all too familiar feeling of shame and guilt well up inside his chest again, so tight and uncomfortable that the emotions could have been almost tangible. He exhaled on a short breath.

So many deaths, so many tragedies, could have been avoided if he had just stricken away his naivete sooner. Perhaps if he had just appealed more to the honor of the Patriots, or perhaps threatened them more, he didn't know which method was best. But all in all, if he had acted differently, his people wouldn't have had to face the hardship of burying so many of their brothers - his brothers. They wouldn't even be so far removed from their own land in the first place, if he had only done things differently.

He realized that a few of the clan warriors were now observing him; they did not wear their emotions openly, though Ratohnhaké:ton still expected at least a twinge of accusation and anger in their eyes. His brows furrowed in confusion when he found none.

Why weren't they angry?

Ratohnhaké:ton willed his feet to move away from the grave site, and soon he was approaching the placement of the injured. His hands clenched and unclenched nervously as wracking coughs and groans of pain sounded from all around him, and the weeping of mothers and children only served to heighten the bleary cloud of desolation that descended over the camp. To be surrounded by his people once again, but so far away from their home, and in such dire circumstances... it felt almost surreal. It was almost too much to take in at this moment, and he exhaled shakily as he ran a hand over his head, his stomach tightening uncomfortably.

"Ratohnhaké:ton!"

Though he knew the owner of the voice, he was still struck dumb as he looked up to see Oia:ner approaching him. He stepped forward, but was unprepared for the forceful hug she gave him, her long braided hair tousled by the wind.

"It is so good to see you again, Ratohnhaké:ton," she spoke in the Kanien'kehá:kan tongue, and as he stepped back to look at her fully, he was briefly taken aback by the raw relief in her eyes. He couldn't understand why she seemed so happy to see him, after all that had happened, but he nodded nonetheless.

"Thank you... I feel the same, Clan Mother."

Oia:ner smiled. "Come now, Karonhià:ke wants to see you," she said, and led him to the far end of the camp.

All at once, he felt overwhelmed at the warm feeling that encompassed the small group when he approached. There was none of the anger, none of the bitterness or regret that he anticipated from the rest of the clan. Only small, wincing smiles, and bright eyes. He was prepared to deal with anger; being welcomed was the last thing he had ever expected, and the speech he had practiced, begging for their forgiveness, was quickly dissipating in his mind.

"Ratohnhaké:ton," Karonhià:ke greeted feebly, reaching for him. Ratohnhaké:ton grasped his hand firmly, though careful of his strength in case of causing more pain, and looked down at the man. He smiled, wider than Ratohnhaké:ton had ever remembered seeing before, and gripped his hand tighter. "Thank you."

He nodded, though uncertain all the while. "What do you need of me, Karonhià:ke? I can help bury our dead, or tend to the wounded-"

The older man shook his head shortly, before being interrupted by a racking cough. He winced at the fierceness of his cough, but it soon subsided, and Karonhià:ke spoke again, albeit shakily. "You have done enough, my brother. You need to rest now. It must have been a long journey."

He hesitated, and Karonhià:ke gave him a pointed look. Ratohnhaké:ton turned to Oia:ner for reassurance, but she had begun tending to the older man's injuries. He shrugged. "If you insist. I will rest for a short time, but know that I will be ready to assist the clan in moving again."

Karonhià:ke nodded, smiling, and his eyes slid closed, and soon he was deep in slumber.

Ratohnhaké:ton exhaled tightly, and turned away. But before he could take one step, he caught the eyes of another - of Á:kwe'ks. The two warriors had never been on close terms, but there had always been a mutual respect between them. Á:kwe'ks nodded at him gruffly, maintaining that usual, unreadable look in his eyes all the while, and soon turned back to watch over the camp.

He frowned, unable to discern all that was happening.

Why weren't they angry at him? They should have been, but perhaps they just hid it well...

Releasing a tight breath, Ratohnhaké:ton walked toward the opposite edge of the camp, his steps slowed by the slight limp, and he kept his head down, avoiding the many curious eyes of his clan. Were they angry at him, he wondered. For some unfathomable reason to him, Oia:ner, Karonhià:ke, and even the surly Á:kwe'ks didn't display any outward signs of anger and denunciation toward him, but could the same be said for the rest of his people? He couldn't, wouldn't blame them, if they were. Though he still felt hesitant to muster the energy of facing their possible ire, so for now, he kept his eyes pinned straight ahead.

But there was a particular feeling, of being watched by a particular person, and he couldn't resist the urge to glance up in investigation. It was the girl, her dark gaze meeting his own. She was traveling with the clan?

It didn't click in his mind, when he had first saw her several paces away from the thick of battle. Nor when he saw her same companions from that day, fighting amidst his people against the Patriot guards.

Patriots.

The word itself was like acid eroding upon his tongue, burning and blistering in its connotation. The same people he had fought in war with, who had trusted him, and who he had once trusted... whose soldiers he had to kill just hours earlier, from further decimating his clan. He almost wanted to laugh bitterly, to keep the roar of frustration and anger at bay.

Ratohnhaké:ton felt the beginning tremors of a headache, and tried to push the thoughts out of his mind, push them away far enough until late at night, where they would inevitably creep back to haunt him until the dawn.

But out of his peripheral, he saw the girl rise, peering in his direction. Ratohnhaké:ton turned to her fully, some of his earlier surprise at seeing her for the second time returning. Of all the places she could end up, of all the people she could travel with—she was here.

His feet moved of their own accord, and soon he was standing directly in front of her, gazing down at her as she craned her neck back to get a good look at him. Behind her, stood a woman of his clan, tending to one of the girl's companions—brothers? – but the woman ignored them both as she focused on her duties.

The girl didn't immediately speak, her eyes darting over his features as if she was trying to map the planes of his face. From behind her, one of her brothers, the taller boy, eyed him sharply, still as stone.

"I wanted to thank you," she spoke at last, that same, shaky tremor creeping into her voice as the first time they had met. "For everything you've done for us. We wouldn't be here, with your own people no less, if it weren't for you. I just... don't know how to repay you..."

He lowered his eyes, embarrassed at how sheepish he suddenly felt. "You do not need to," he hurriedly said, and looked back up at her. She gazed at him pensively, before her brows soon scrunched together.

"Hush that talk. I want to. I want to do one small thing for you, all I can do at this point. Something that you first asked of me, but I refused you..." she exhaled slowly, her eyes lowering for one instant, before rising up to meet his again. "My name is Amara.

"And these are my brothers, Akin," she gestured to the taller boy seated behind her, who was watching the interaction with a flat expression in his eyes. "And Kelile," she pointed to the boy on the makeshift mat, who looked up at Ratohnhaké:ton with wide eyes. "Say thank you," she muttered to them in a suddenly fierce tone.

"Thank you for your help," the boys said in unison, and even Akin turned to look Ratohnhaké:ton in the eye as he voiced his gratitude.

Ratohnhaké:ton bowed his head shortly in solemn gratitude, straightening when Amara's fingers curled, and she reached out to him as if she intended to touch him. She retracted her hand at the last moment, however, staring up at him with an almost expectant look in her eyes. "What is your name?"

He hesitated. When he had first met the trio on that fateful day, seemingly so long ago, he still resided near Boston. If she had asked for his name then, he would have surely given her his given colonial name: _Connor_. But as he looked around the camp once again, catching the relieved eyes – still strange to him – of several of his clan, taking in the close knit atmosphere of being reunited with people at last, Ratohnhaké:ton knew that the name given to him by Achilles would no longer have a use here. It saddened him to admit it, and he had not predicted how attached he would grow to a false name, but maybe it was more due to the memory of the man who had named him after his own son. In that regard, he would always be _Connor._

But here, with his people, he was fully Ratohnhaké:ton once again.

"My name is Ratohnhaké:ton," he answered, his eyes distant.

Amara nodded once, shortly, but before she could respond they were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps. He turned to see Oia:ner approaching with Á:kwe'ks in tow, and inclined his head in greeting. The two stood at the foot of Kelile's mat, looking to Ratohnhaké:ton and Amara in turn. "I see you've become acquainted with our guests," Oia:ner said to him in their language.

"Were they accepted into the clan?" he asked.

"We have been debating the idea for some time, and decided to come to you for your input."

Ratohnhaké:ton almost stumbled over his words, surprised at the value the Clan Mother had placed in his opinion after all that had transpired. He didn't know what he could offer, since he had only known of the three siblings for such a short amount of time, but he tried to give the best judgment he could. He glanced at Amara, who looked between him and the Clan Mother even though she couldn't understand what they were saying. "Well... it is obvious that they have been taught to fight, but they will still need more time to refine their abilities. This one," he gestured to Amara. "I came in at the last moment as she was being attacked by two guards, and she managed to give them a good fight before one of them subdued her.

"I think she will provide well for the clan, with more training."

Oia:ner nodded, and turned to Á:kwe'ks. "And what say you, since you trained the small boy?"

Á:kwe'ks rubbed his temple, crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his chest as he contemplated his next words. "From what little technique I saw, I was not impressed. But... he protected our people well when it counted," he added, looking over at the women and sleeping children as a somber expression passed briefly over his features. "And that's all that I can ask for."

Oia:ner settled her gaze on Akin, and the boy met her eyes steadily, warily, aware that the attention was now set upon him. " Karonhià:ke says that this one defended him as soon as he was attacked, and acted well in battle. He calls him a natural."

Á:kwe'ks nodded, and when Oia:ner gave him one final nod, he faced the three siblings, his expression passive as he looked over each of them in turn. He spoke in English. "Very well. You three are permitted to travel with our clan," he said shortly, and just as quickly he uncrossed his arms and turned away to head back. "Do not mess this up," he added, and Ratohnhaké:ton resisted the urge to shake his head.

He glanced at Kelile, who exhaled heavily, and fell upon the mat with a dramatic flourish. Akin stood up, stretched, and walked away, swinging his axe as he whistled a tune, seemingly without a care in the world. Ratohnhaké:ton turned to Amara at last, who sat down gingerly, the tension seeming to drift from her body as she resumed helping the_ women_ of the clan tend to the injured. His expression drifted wearily across the camp, his full brows tightening in puzzlement as he was met only with tired smiles and relieved waves.

Oia:ner looked between the two of them, a pensive expression drifting across her weathered features, before smiling and turning away.

What an interesting journey this had turned out to be.


	10. Chapter 10

_Womp wooommmp, I had only edited this once, instead of the usual obsessive, scouring, rolling-my-eyes-at-my-own-writing repeat edit. So some passages may be pretty rocky. _

_Thanks goes to my beta G-ChanSanKun, and to you guys for reviewing as well. _

* * *

The deer's ears pricked. Its darkened eyes darted about the foliage, sharp and alert, and its legs twitched all at once, ready to bolt at the smallest sign of trouble. The deer did not breathe, or so much as move a muscle as it stared farther ahead, attempting to pinpoint the source of the sudden shuffling noise. Its fur was raised as its weary gaze traveled the narrow space, and its form trembled slightly, under the expectant tension. After a seemingly unending stretch of time, the deer began to relax somewhat, and lowered its head to resume grazing upon the patch of grass.

Amara bit down on her tongue, resisting the urge to curse at her own mistake – moving too loudly. An entirely foolish action – and risk alarming the deer once again. At her side, Ie:teron's hand was hovering above her arm, her eyes pinned on their prey up ahead. Amara slid a cautious glance to the woman, making note of how close her slender fingers were. Just a few moments earlier, when she had made too much of a ruckus, Ie:teron had painfully pinched the skin above her elbow, and when she had opened her mouth to give an angry retort, the Native woman only twisted the skin further, quickly silencing a razzled Amara.

_We're gonna have words later, _Amara planned, mildly sulking all the while.

She shifted her attention back to the deer up ahead, quietly drawing her bow. She barely registered the harsh feeling of the wood scraping against her palm, as calloused as her hands were, and her fingers settled upon the grooves of the bow. Her stance widened into the proper position as Ie:teron had taught, and she glanced at the woman, silently asking if she were on the right track. After receiving a brief nod as confirmation, Amara inhaled deeply, and aimed for her target.

Droplets of sweat trickled down her face as she concentrated on the deer's position, trying to control the shaking of her fingers as she slightly adjusted her aim. The tight curls of her hair were plastered to her forehead, the sweat pooling beneath the dark strands, and her heartbeat sped up as time itself edged by. She relaxed the grip upon the arrow, preparing to watch it fly into the flank of her target, and as her fingers began to slip, she didn't have the time to even register the crashing noise that suddenly fell upon the area. The deer immediately darted away, quickly disappearing into the tangled brush of the forest, leaving behind a stunned Amara who had just released the arrow, the projectile slamming into the trunk where the deer had stood just seconds ago.

Amara lowered the bow to her side, her fingers twitching as surprise quickly shifted to agitation as the voices of Kelile and Akin were heard nearby. She turned to Ie:teron, who as always wore a distant expression, showing none of the irritation Amara felt at the interruption.

The boys emerged from a sheltering of bushes, both panting and keeling over as they tried to catch their breath. A man from the clan quietly trailed after them, his full eyebrows drawn tightly together. He seemed exasperated. She understood his expression all too well, and briefly felt sorry for the man for having to deal with both of her hard-headed brothers at the same time. Earlier, Amara had tried to coax Ie:teron into letting at least one of her brothers train with them, but the Mohawk woman had flatly refused with a curt shake of her head.

_"__She agreed to help only __you____ practice. She wishes for no more than that, I'm afraid," _Amara remembered Aonhawí:non, the woman who had normally acted as translator, later clarifying for her.

She observed how Akin stomped around in frustration, rambling on about how their game had escaped, while Kelile argued with him, the younger boy's tone soaking with contempt.

_.____..Maybe it's better this way__, _Amara mused.

"If you had waited for just a doggone second longer, like I told you to, we would've been captured that rabbit by now!" Akin railed, jabbing an accusatory finger in Kelile's direction.

"I was just doing what Skén:nen told me to do!" Kelile retorted, gesturing defensively toward the Mohawk man who was watching their heated interaction with a bemused expression. "It ain't my fault you're so big and slow and... and... _dumb!"_

"Oh boy, that one hurt me deeply. Cut me right to the core it did. Did you catch a headache comin' up with that?"

"Shut up! Just... shut up," Kelile said, bowing his head. "You're no one to talk when you can't even follow simple directions right."

Akin reached for him, clasping Kelile's head in the crook of his elbow and lightly tapping his fist against the smaller boy's crown. Kelile twisted out of Akin's grasp, muttering below his breath, and tossed his older brother a withering look as he backed away.

But Akin did not notice the look Kelile gave him, turning away and rubbing at his calfs, whistling below his breath, as unaffected as he could possibly be. Amara did. Amara saw the look, causing her to inhale tightly and do a double take. In the youngest boy's eyes rested primarily a resentful glare, but that wasn't what had alarmed her. Another emotion resided there, nestled beneath the dramatic indignation and irritation.

A plain look of fear. Nervousness. Undisguised in its transparency, the pure effect of it in Kelile's eyes disturbed Amara, her mind casting about for the reasons behind it. He didn't seem to be afraid of his surroundings. No, his attention was focused on his brother. The fear and trepidation in his eyes, undeniable and potent, was directed toward Akin of all people.

A sinking feeling bubbled in her chest as she contemplated the reasons behind the youngest boy's apparent trepidation. What had happened? Did Akin tease him too harshly when she wasn't aware? She knew that the two sparred together. Maybe Akin was being too rough on him? No, that couldn't be it. Kelile was just as much of a spitfire as his siblings, though it manifested in different ways, and he could handle himself.

So what had happened, to cause such a frightful reaction in the young boy?

Though some (small) part of her was aware that she _could_ just be getting worked up for no reason at all, she quickly swept the thought away. That was what she was here for. It was her duty, her job to worry over both of her brothers' well-being. That's how it was supposed to be ever since Nana died.

Before she could go to Kelile and question him privately, Ie:teron shifted behind her, drawing her own dagger. Amara whipped around, tightening her grip upon the bow, debating whether Ie:teron had seen either game or an enemy, but stopped in her tracks when she met fatigued brown eyes glittering beneath a quickly becoming familiar white hood. He was kneeling upon a tree branch, his waistcoat dangling below as his hands gripped the weathered wood.

That man. What was his name again?

She wracked her brain for any hint of his name, confused as to why her mind had simply blanked so suddenly. Near her, Ie:teron lowered her weapon, tucking it back into the draping folds of her clothing, and she looked to Amara, disregarding the presence of everyone else in the clearing. She clucked her tongue at her, alerting Amara out of her thoughts, before muttering something and turning away. From their brief time spent training together, Amara knew that that meant Ie:teron was finished for the day. But before she had left completely, Amara discerned what it was the Mohawk woman had murmured beneath her breath.

_"__It is only Ratohnhaké:ton."_

So she did know some degree of English. Unsurprised, Amara looked up at the branch above, the vantage point giving her a clear view of his face beneath the hood.

The sharp gleam of a blade caught her eye, the edge if his tomahawk clearly outlined against his clothing. On the other side of his waist, rested another holstered weapon - a sword? Just how many weapons did he carry on his person, she briefly contemplated, calculating that the various, heavy robes he wore could easily conceal numerous items.

_Just who was this guy?_ she found herself contemplating as his eyes bored into her own dark gaze.

He always looked so tired. So weary; the bags under his eyes spoke plainly of his exhaustion. Yet, even though Amara usually stayed up late into the night, she had always managed to fall asleep before he did. If he ever slept. She wondered, again, who he was, and what had happened to him.

His lips were set in a thin line, and he stood up, his long legs easily balancing upon the branch. His gaze broke away from her own, and he stalked off deeper into the forest, disappearing amidst the greenery.

It did not matter who he was. For now, the only thing that mattered was that he had saved them, all of them, and he was continuing to help everyone even now.

Behind her, the sound of footsteps startled Amara out of her mind's wanderings. She immediately tried to find Kelile again, but only saw the retreating edge of his back as he too was soon swallowed up in the cocooning path of the forest. She sighed. She had let her distraction of the hooded man get in the way of attending to Kelile's needs. She recalled the way his eyes had looked when he stared at Akin's back, and rubbed her temples with increasing pressure. She didn't know what was going on between her brothers, but she needed to fix it immediately. Getting side-tracked would not do.

* * *

The fire flared warmly upon his taut and toughened skin. He stared into its molten depths, flecked with yellows and blues as the crinkling edge of its music met his ears. He pulled his hood down, remembering that he was in a forest clearing with his clan, and not in the middle of a dingy alley in Boston or New York.

Raised voices alerted him, and he stole a glance away from the calming sway of the fire. _Ratohnhaké:ton _watched as the girl - Amara - trailed after the youngest of her brothers, her hands planted firmly upon her hips. She looked irritated, but even more so was the younger boy. He caught bits and pieces of their conversation.

"-said I'm fine! I don't need any of your help-"

"-know that's a goddamn lie. What is going on with you and Akin-"

"NOTHING. Okay?!" the boy yelled abruptly, startling her. "Just... just leave me alone. Please. I wanna be by myself."

Ratohnhaké:tonwatched as the boy slunk off to a corner of the camp that was already made for the night, burying his head in his knees. _He _shifted his attention to Amara, her form rigid as she stared after the younger boy. Finally, she turned on her heel and stalked toward the center of the camp where he was, plopping down onto a nearby log. Her expression was forcibly impassive as she stared into the fire, curling her fingers around her knees repeatedly.

"Is everything... alright?" he ventured quietly, rubbing invisible patterns into the wood underneath him.

Amara did not look at him, rubbing her nose as her eyes bore into the flames. "Is anything ever alright?" she murmured after a considerable pause.

Ratohnhaké:tonran his gaze over her stiff form, wracking his mind for something to say that would hopefully comfort her. He exhaled in defeat as the seconds ticked by, turning back to the fire. "I would say that many things are alright. That many things are good. Maybe they are not what you would expect to find comfort in, but there has to be at least one thing that will be... alright."

Abruptly, his mind flickered over images of the Homestead, the land's inhabitants providing him with at least a temporary refuge amidst the troubles of the world. A tight feeling bustled inside his chest, and he glanced down. He missed them, his other home, very much, and his nostalgia was all the more apparent as he looked around the small camp. How frustrating it was, leaving one home in search of another that was just as rightful. He shook his head. "It is up to you to believe it so," he added after a pause.

When she didn't respond, he turned his gaze on her, initially surprised to find her staring at him with such intensity in her eyes. Her brows were knit together, her fingers still resting atop her knees as she stared at him. He rubbed at his mostly bare scalp, running his fingers through the small remaining diameter of hair. He was never good at this comforting thing.

"...Thank you. I'll try to keep what you said in mind." she said, and quickly rose to leave.

Ratohnhaké:tonreleased a tight breath he wasn't aware he had been holding in, turning back to the fire as the sounds of singing began near him. He turned to see a gathering of the people of his clan, clapping and singing as their unified voices melded with the crackling of the fire.

He had meant what he said, he just wasn't sure how to phrase it. Maybe it wasn't even his place to offer advice.

Recalling the first time he had laid eyes on the girl and her brothers, Ratohnhaké:ton trusted that they were not bad. How could they be, when they were subject to such barbarous injustice just as his own people? He remembered how she had first looked at him, with just as much burning fervor in her eyes as only moments ago. She had only wanted to find refuge for herself and her family. He had related all too well.

But she was still an outsider. All three of them were outsiders.

He didn't know who she was outside of her name and that she and her brothers were being put up for auction on that bleary day, and in all honesty he did not have the incentive to inquire more. All Ratohnhaké:ton knew was that she had the same goals as him, as his clan, and that she had promised to help them just as much in return. He chose to trust her in honouring that promise. That was all that mattered to him.

Pushing further thoughts of Amara out of his mind, he rubbed his palms together in front of the fire, the flames warm on his dry, rough skin.

It felt almost otherworldly; waking up and expecting to see the familiar, hollowed roof of a longhouse high above, and only observing the cold expanse of a dawning sky, while his people slowly, yet intently, began the morning's toil. So familiar, and yet so starkly new.

Since events had mellowed somewhat, he appreciated the downtime he had, though temporary it was sure to be. Even more than that, he valued the newfound time with his clan again. It had been a long time coming.

Though, he doubted that the insidious guilt, always lingering on the outskirts of his mind, would depart anytime soon. He felt it whenever he crossed the camp, whenever he greeted someone and they returned the gesture with just as much pleasantry, whenever he went on scouting trips like earlier, and returned to Oia:ner without any useful information to relay.

Maybe they would come to their senses one of these days, and eject him from the tribe. After all, it would be the only appropriate reaction, after all that he had done and who he had supported, and what had happened as a result.

Until then, he was content to support his people as much as he could, whether they needed his assistance or not.


End file.
